1919

He
was just a young university student heading home on the last train of
the day. There was an urgency as he paced back and forth on the platform
waiting for the train to leave. His studies no longer mattered, the
only thing that mattered was getting home now. The young man was so
ashamed. He had hated himself through the long agony of the war. His
father could go to hell. Nothing mattered but seeing his friend again.

The
station master came out to warn the gathering passengers that there
would be a delay. He panicked and rushed back into the station to find a
telephone. The exchange seemed to take forever to pass him through.
There was a short exchange and then the young man dropped the earpiece.
He clung to the telephone box as the receiver swung slowly back and
forth. He sank to the floor sobbing with his back to the wall. It didn't
matter if the curious travellers saw him. Nothing mattered anymore.

Will and Jake (2006)

Jake
woke one late summer night thinking he heard teenage boys whispering
and giggling in the bedroom across the hall. The neighbourhood was old,
so he worried about trespassers. There was nobody in the house.
Unsettled, he stood at the kitchen window looking out at the full
moonlight bathing half the backyard. An old elm loomed over the north
corner of the untended space. Jake realized someone was huddled at its
base. He watched the figure intruding on his property for some time.
There was no movement, so Jake decided to go out and check.

Jake
walked barefoot across the wet lawn. He stopped two metres away. A
young man, probably still a teenager, sat holding his knees in the
shadows. Jake could hear his rattled coughing. “Hey, are you alright?”
At his words, the other’s face lifted in surprise. The young man looked
back at Jake, passed a hand over his eyes, and then collapsed back
against the rough bark of the tree.

“I
didn't think you would come.” The words were a faint whisper, as if the
man was at his last breath. “Oh God, I'm so tired of this.” This last
came out on an exhale and he closed his eyes.

Jake
moved forward. The young man was exposed to the chill night air, except
for cotton boxers and loose singlet. When Jake squatted close, he
discovered the stranger was drenched in cold sweat. Jake brushed back a
wet tangle of bangs from his forehead and felt the fever. “Jesus Christ,
you're burning up kid. What did you take?”

People
warned him about the neighbourhood. The old woman next door complained
about the addicts. Jake looked at the young man. The technical college
was near by. The neighbourhood was full of students. It was likely his
visitor had wandered away stoned from some party. Jake cast around the
yard as if help might be close. He turned back to the young man, despite
the fever, he had begun shivering in the cold September air.

“Can
you stand up son?” There was no response, so Jake took a deep breath
and slipped his arms under the man’s, and with a heave, pulled him up
onto unsteady feet. His head fell against Jake’s shoulder. The older man
stood, feeling the life of the teenager against his body. The
closeness, and exertion from rising quickly, left his own heart
pounding. He was close to blacking out with the scent of the teenager
flooding his senses. Jake closed his eyes while he fought for balance. A
hand brushing his back brought him back. “Right, now let's get you into
the house where it's warm.”

Phone the friends or family, phone 911,
Jake decided to take things one step at a time. As they struggled back
to the kitchen door across the lawn, Jake did not notice the ragged boy,
face shrouded in a heavy hoody concealed by the broad trunk of the elm.
His mind was on the teenager, who seemed to be getting his second wind
as they stumbled along. Jake was relieved to see it. The familiar
oppression of sleeping alone in the old house had given way to a light
headed exhilaration. Jake figured he probably needed to take his
medications soon.

It was enough to get the
young man as far as the living room couch. He had stopped shivering and
his temperature seemed to be getting better. Jake threw a light blanket
over him while he thought. It was 2:27. He had to be out of the house
at 7:30. Maybe a cup of coffee would help, but Jake felt euphoric.

“How old are you now?”

“What? Forty-five.” The young man seemed more alert.

“You
look good for an old man.” His smile was weary and sardonic. After
another beat, the young man shifted his attention to the sparse
furnishings, lingering on the flat screen and it's accessories. Jake
realized he had gone outside without his shirt. He was self conscious of
the difference between the young man’s trim figure and his own time
worn appearance. He decided not to leave him and get one yet.

“I'm glad to hear it. Are you stoned?”

“What do you mean?” The question brought the young man’s bloodshot eyes back on him.

“Are you on drugs?”

“I
took some atropine. I've been popping Bayer for the fever. I'm feeling
better now.” The young man shrugged. He pushed the blanket now to his
waist.

“What’s your name?”

The
question seemed to sadden the young man. They stared at each other
again until the young man closed his eyes and dropped his head. When he
lifted his head again he replied quietly, “I'm Will.” His voice cracked
on his own name.

Jake gave Will his name
and the the young man nodded very slowly. Jake asked him if he would be
okay for a minute, and then he went upstairs for a shirt. Will seemed
like a harmless kid. The young man wasn't in the living room when Jake
came down. Jake found him in the kitchen looking out the window toward
the elm tree. Somewhere in the deep shadows, a teenage boy still lay
against the tree. Jake asked him if he needed anything. Will asked for
some water and watched with interest as Jake drew it from the fridge.
Will leaned against the stove, running one hand along its black ceramic
top. He hesitantly touched the glowing clock.

Jake
knew he should get this half naked young man out of his house, but he
was not enthusiastic about pitching him out the door wrapped in a thin
fleece blanket. Will intruded on his thoughts, “I'm tired.” It was a
good distraction. Jake led him back to the couch and showed him how to
recline. He sat in a chair across the room watching Will stare at the
blank flat screen until Jake nodded off.

Jake
woke with a start around 6:30. Will was standing in a collarless linen
shirt and trim dark slacks. Jake did not recall seeing them outside in
the back yard. Will’s fists were deep in his pockets. The young man was
taking in the neighbourhood. He seemed to know Jake was awake. “How long
have you lived here?”

“Just since this month.”

“Who lives in the house next door now?” Will pointed north with his chin.

“Mrs.
Pisio I think. I don't really know her. She's very old.” Jake expected
to see her carted off in an ambulance any time. Then again, it might be
her peering out the window as he was carted off. Mrs. Piso, she was too
old fashioned to call Ms., invited Jake over the first week. Jake found
her house immensely depressing. Sitting with her over coffee served in a
stained mug, waiting for her to return with store bought cake, Jake
felt like he was an adolescent about to be dressed down by his father in
a quiet voice laced with loathing. Forty-five years old, and the whole
house inexplicably left him impotent and vastly ashamed of his feelings.
He tried his best to be polite to the old woman, and left as quickly as
he could. Despite her antique friendliness, he had avoided her house
ever since.

“Do you want some coffee?”
Jake started off to the kitchen wondering how his strange night was
going to end. The young man still intrigued him. He knew so little about
him. He noticed his medications beside the coffee maker and paused to
take them. When the coffee was running he called out to Will, asking him
if he wanted some breakfast.

There was
no answer. Jake went back into the living room, then checked upstairs.
His wallet and watch on the bedroom dresser had not been touched. He
looked out the upstairs window onto the street. There was nobody.
Something vital drained out of Jake as he stood there, something he had
been missing all his life. It had arrived with Will, and walked back out
of his life in a moment. Jake was so tired of it.

Streetwise

Chris
woke when his body toppled over. Wet grass brushed against his cheek
and tickled his nose. He curled into a ball, arms hugging. He was awake
to the familiar oppression of his life. Chris felt like shit. Cold
fingers fumbled for his pocket before wrapping around the rest of the
pills. It had been so good this time. He fought the temptation to use it
all right there.

The new dream had
brought him so close. The connection was strong and hopeful because
along with the sense of peace it brought, there was now joy. The shrink
his parents made him go to thought he understood when Chris opened up to
him and said he felt broken in half. He could never explain to the man
how using was more than an adolescent thrill, it was the only way he
could bring the shattered pieces of himself back together. Chris
reluctantly let go of the small plastic pill bottle. He sighed before
using the tree trunk to stand up. The teenager peered around the trunk
and looked at his house.

Chris had been
thinking of the old story and a half as his house since he found it
empty in June with its for sale sign on the boulevard. There was a trick
to opening an old sash window on the porch from the outside. He crashed
in the house through the summer, dodging the real estate agent’s
infrequent visits. Chris had begun to think the dilapidated house might
be his for the winter. When he saw the sold sign in September, Chris
knew he would have to move on.

The lights
were on in the kitchen. Chris shifted closer to the trunk when he
caught the man who had just moved in looking out the window toward him.
The boy had not seen much of him since the day he moved in. Just a tired
middle aged man like his father. After that, Chris avoided his house.
The trick window still worked. The old lady next door had noticed him on
the porch and challenged him when he checked it. Chris had not tried to
go inside since he had been evicted.

Chris
turned away as soon as the man left the window. He was coming down now.
The sense of well being was just a wistful whisper haunting him now.
Before long, the painful craving would begin to build. He was not
hungry, but he forced himself to think about food. The well fed john
from the night before had offered him nothing. After that, his current
dealer had taken all his money and then demanded something more. Chris
was past caring about that sort of exchange. A burger at Macdonald's
would have carried him through the whole day. He did not have the price
left in his pocket.

The slender fifteen
year old started studying the back yards as he walked down the alley. He
paused occasionally to flip the lid on a green bin hoping to find a
discarded pizza box. It was the wrong block for that. He would have more
luck closer to the college. The old people on this block were too
thrifty. When he reached the street, Chris turned toward the corner
store. It had a Submarine Sandwich and full dumpsters.

Moose
Jaw was a very small city. The runaway would have found it easier if he
had headed east along the Trans Canada Highway to Winnipeg. He might
have stopped in Regina where his parents still searched for him, or
moved on to Alberta. Moose Jaw had trapped him in its dusty webs and
Chris could explain that no better than he could his feeling of
worthlessness. He found some sub scraps in the dumpster next to the
store. Passing drivers noticed, but drove on by. His stomach ached after
he had eaten a little, so he wrapped the last bites up and moved back
toward the narrow streets and alleys that led to his refuge.

Chris
stood in the alley behind the burned out house he had discovered and
compared it to his house a few blocks away. The basement rooms were all
that survived. He used the toilets upstairs, but there was no water. It
would have been nice to have a hot shower. It had been a bad idea to get
high in his house. It had been risky with the real estate agent popping
in. Better to get do it in the wreck before him. He pushed through the
heavy screen of caragana bushes and sought the privacy of the basement.

Chris woke mid afternoon and ate
the last bites he had scavenged from the dumpster. His book bag was
packed ready for a quick exit. He thought about changing his clothes for
something fresh, but there was nothing fresh. The soup kitchen downtown
would give him supper, but it was too early. He hid his bag and climbed
out the basement window into the shady back yard.

The
teen walked downtown through the alleys eyes open for opportunity. A
garage door was open. Chris snagged a box opener from the workbench and
three garbage bags full of cans. He hurried down the alley as quietly as
he could putting distance between the garage and him. There had been
power tools, but he had learned a long time ago in Brandon that the
reward was not worth the danger.

He had
$24.75 in his pocket as he headed away from SARCAN up Main Street
towards the library. A harried woman had gifted him two full bags as he
waited his turn in line. It was a down payment for his next fix. He half
heartedly tried panhandling as he moved along. His age and looks helped
a lot, but there was competition. Moose Jaw was not a great place for
begging either. The older guys would try to roll him if he got too
successful.

Chris was walking past the
bank, thinking of the people pulling money out of their accounts. There
was a growing pile in his savings account. His parents were still giving
him his allowance. Chris had learned that in Regina. The police almost
caught him. He had not tried since. He stopped when he saw the man
living in his house walking into an office. The man sat down at the
chair with his back to the window. The runaway felt a mixture of
resentment and fascination. The man’s dark hair was greying, still, he
looked better than the old men who sought him out at night. The man sat
back in his chair, staring at something above his desk. He rubbed his
eyes before combing stiff fingers through his hair. Chris was caught off
guard when the man swung his chair around and began bending forward for
something.

The teen on the street stepped
back from the window just as the man froze looking at him. As Chris
shifted his balance, the man’s face was obscured by a random shimmer on
the glass between them. Chris caught the impression of an attractive
boy. Chris glanced around looking for the boy, saw no one, and turned
back to find the man still focused on him. Their eyes locked. Chris
broke away first. He moved down the street and turned the corner. His
thoughts were on the man as he continued on to the library, pausing to
ask likely passerby for change.

It was
turning out to be a lucky day. It had begun with the satisfying high and
now he had an extra $5.00 in his pocket thanks to a prosperous middle
age man trying to relieve his guilt. Chris settled into a soft chair
with the history book on his lap. It was a frequent choice for him. He
worked his way slowly through it, reading occasional sections and mining
the pictures for and any response they might prompt. He could imagine
walking into some of the long gone stores on Main Street, or riding up a
gleaming elevator in an office building. One picture showed a sandy
beach by the river. If Chris closed his eyes, he could feel the heat on
his back, smell the muddy water, bury his toes in the sand, as heart
bursting, he listened to another boy’s bright voice. Visualizing it made
him hard. Chris flipped the page.

He
actually missed school. Friendships in elementary school had held so
much promise. One by one, the boys he was drawn to let him down. Trust
was easily lost. By grade seven, they were all avoiding him. That was
hard because his attraction to the boys was growing. By grade nine,
dealing with his classmates and the storm of emotions he could not
control was just too painful. There was a picture of Central High School
in 1914, soon after it was built. He had found more pictures on line
using the library computers. Chris had dreams.

An
old man was watching him. Chris looked him over as he sat, legs
crossed, in the chair. The boy felt a flash of anger. The part of him
still lost in Moose Jaw before the Great War resented being leered at by
a man. The banker in his office had not leered. Chris shoved the anger
away and smiled an invitation. This flustered the man. Chris watched his
eyes shift back to his sports magazine. Too afraid to do anything, Chris judged. Not dark enough, not drunk enough to convince himself he doesn't really want to fondle a boy. He
pulled his hoodie off anyway, letting the man catch a glimpse of his
underfed torso as his tee shirt lifted. It would not hurt to advertise a
bit. He went back to his book. From time to time, Chris caught the old
man forgetting not to stare.

Chris’
favourite page in the book was the one of two houses in the Avenues. One
was his house and the other was the house beside it where the nosey old
lady lived. The trees along the avenue were saplings, but still bigger
than he judged they should. The porch along the front of the
neighbouring house had been glassed in. You could not stand on it and
talk easily with a friend on the matching porch. The caption said the
picture was taken in 1927. His was the home of long time Moose Jaw
family practitioner, Dr. Anthony Childe.

The
day ended late in the alley behind a bar. Chris was jumpy. The pills in
his pocket were there calling to him but he was not so far gone that he
would get his fix in a downtown alley. It was not a good way to pull
tricks. A collection of patrons stood beside the back door catching a
smoke. A few had beers that should have stayed inside. Muted music
filtered out to him. The alley smelt of rancid grease and charred beef.
Chris had some regulars now. It was hit or miss whether they would be
there, he had to be patient. Someone pointed at him and there was
laughter. You had to be ready to run. Chris’ stomach flipped when a
cowboy peeled away from the group and started sauntering over to where
he leaned against the dumpster. The boxcutter was in his hand, though he
was not sure he could use it.

The man
had a beer dangling from his fingers. He was tall and very drunk. Chris
did not think he was gay. He was just looking to get off with a fag in
front of his buddy. Chris was used to contempt. He forced himself to
stay still as the guy looked him over. “You want a beer kid?” A hand
came out dangling the bottle in front of Chris’ face.

“It’s twenty dollars.” He replied flatly. “Before.”

The
cowboy snorted and a sneer twisted his lips at Chris’ willingness to
debase himself. Chris understood, but he had shut down already. It was
just a way to get back to where he needed to be. The john dug into a
tight pocket and pulled out a twenty. Chris plucked it from his fingers
as the drunken man swung back against the wall of the building. Light
spilled across his body and the boy realized he wanted his friend,
smoking by the door, to see everything.

Chris
dropped before man, face level with his crotch and smoothly opened his
jeans. He pulled the pants and briefs down, freeing a heavy cock, then
the man suddenly jerked everything down mid thigh spreading his legs.
The cock was an arrogant curve demanding the boy’s attention. A glance
showed him the friend was watching. Chris looked up. The man was taking a
swig from his beer. He glanced down at Chris with a lazy look before
sliding a hand up his belly so his shirt would not get into the way.
Chris’ fingers wrapped around the shaft and then his lips and tongue
went to work.

The friend took a turn,
only he was shy. He pushed Chris back to the shadows and threaded his
penis through his fly like he was taking a leak. When he came, the boy
found it hard to keep from getting pounded into the filthy side of the
dumpster. It was another twenty dollars. Chris had to wait an hour
before the next one, circling the block to avoid a police driveby. His
night ended after closing with a nervous regular who wanted a fuck. He
might have used a condom, the boy was not sure. It was worth thirty
dollars and two thin joints.

Chris smoked
one of the joints in the shadows in front of his house. It was after
1:00am and the lights were still on. The banker could not sleep. The
pills in his pocket could keep. The boy’s dreams were still strong and
the good dope kept the emptiness at bay. The banker walked out onto the
porch and looked out into the night. Chris froze behind a boulevard elm
watching him until he finally turned back into the house. He stood there
long after the second joint was gone, staring at the light.

Visitations

Jake
attacked renovations to the old house to distract himself from his
depression. Meeting Will had been strange. Like an earworm, fragments of
their late night exchange surfaced throughout the day. After a sandwich
supper, Jake tried to talk with his kids in Saskatoon. His son was
sixteen now and not much interested in visiting Moose Jaw. Something
about Theo’s eyes reminded Jake of the teenager looking at him from the
street. While he teased information about their lives out of his son and
daughter, Jake tried to put his feelings into words. Theo was
defensive, resentful of Jake for leaving him. It was understandable.
There was also hunger there, as if he still needed his father’s love.
That made Jake feel guilty. The divorce was his fault. Jake had no
excuse to offer to his son or daughter. He did not understand why the
scruffy teenager on the other side of his window had the same mix of
anger and longing. Maybe everybody between childhood and maturity was
like that.

After talking to Theo and
Tasha, Jake went back to tackling the small bedroom. A worn carpet
covered distressed pine boards. Successive layers of paint and wallpaper
clung tenaciously to walls. The original plan was to strip the house
down to a whitewashed Scandinavian simplicity. Jake veered off track in
the small bedroom when he uncovered a fragment of the original wallpaper
behind a rotten window frame. To his mind, the broad royal blue stripes
and delicate pastel vines seemed as vibrant as the day they had been
pasted to the newly plastered walls. He took a picture of the pattern
and settled for preparing the rough old walls for new wallpaper.

At
1:00 am he told himself it was time to sleep. A hot shower washed off
the renovation debris and turned his thoughts back to Will. Sleep eluded
him. He paused in the small bedroom to look out the old sash window at
the curtained window of the house next door. On a sleepless night like
this, two boys could sit at their bedroom windows and whisper, argue, or
simply share a silence. The gap was too far to reach across, Jake would
have hated that. He squinted at the dark window across the way,
imagining a wide-eyed boy, or perhaps a vulnerable adolescent like Theo
watching him. Somehow, it was easier imagining himself in the old
woman’s unwelcoming house looking back into this room. Jake smiled sadly
to himself, the image of a child’s face welcomed him in the long
darkness.

He had left the lights on
downstairs. Jake was sparing about drinks. Tonight he poured three
fingers without a thought. There was no Will in the backyard, huddled
against the elm. It was another cold night. Jake wondered to the front
door and stepped onto the porch. He had an urge to call out to Will.
Instead he talked himself down. Jake knew nothing of the man young
enough to be his son. Will was somewhere out there in the night resting.
He might be lying beside his girlfriend. He was certainly not thinking
of the middle age man who brought him in from the cold.

Jake
took a long pull at his glass of 12 year old Rye. The silken flavor
mingled in his mouth with the aromatic fall leaves. The dusty smell
brought the memory of marijuana shared long ago with Tony when they were
stationed in Germany. Jake breathed the scent in deeply and held his
breath. In the still, cold air the memories of Germany and young lovers
haunted him even more. Jake turned away, back to the light. Thoughts of
Tony and Will getting muddled in his head.

The
next few days were a struggle to get back to routine. Walking back and
forth to work, any group of young adults would draw his attention and he
would survey them for Will. The young men seemed callow to him. There
had been a maturity to Will Jake could not place. He managed to think
less of the man as the days past.

Jake’s
colleagues at the bank convinced him to join them for lunch, and then
finally for an evening of drinks. He tried to engage with them. He knew
the collapse of his marriage had left him withdrawn and self absorbed.
It was not healthy. Just before the weekend, Jake caught a glimpse of a
green and grey striped hoodie as he walked the last few blocks to his
house. The teenager was out of sight by the time he reached the corner.
He had almost forgotten the angry boy.

Will
was sitting in the living room when Jake came down from his shower. He
looked much the same as the night he disappeared. Jake paused on the
stairs to collect himself. He rubbed his hair with the towel. He must
have left the door unlocked again. “You look better.”

“Thanks,” Will replied. “I am feeling A-1 now.”

Jake
thought he did look stronger. He envied Will his ability to bounce back
from a bad night. Three more steps down and he was in the livingroom.
“You walked out on coffee and an offer of eggs last time. Can I get you
something?”

“No thanks, but don’t let me stop you.” Will picked up the cable remote and turned it around curiously.

It
was after eleven, so Jake was not interested in food. He tossed his
towel on a chair. “If I go make some coffee, are you going to disappear
again?”

Will smiled sadly, “I don’t think that’s likely.”

Jake
started the coffee and then headed back to the living room. He sat down
in the same chair he had taken the first night. “So Will, tell me about
yourself. Are you at the technical college?”

“Not
a college man, Jake. I was in the army, demobbed a few months ago. I
was just mucking about when I got the Spanish Flu. I thought I was going
to conk out, felt just like trench fever. Two years dodging that and
everything else and I get the flu in Moose Jaw. God is a mean bastard.”
Will’s voice was subdued. Jake thought him young to have been in
Afghanistan. “Enough about me Jake. Tell me your story.”

Jake
looked at the young man leaning forward on the edge of the couch.
Will’s late night appearance was unreal. Jake ought to have challenged
Will’s trespassing a second time, instead he leaned back in his chair
and stretched his legs out. Stiff fingers ran through his hair, then
locked together behind his head. He had come down the stairs in nothing
but his loose flannel pajama bottoms. Jake did not want to talk about
himself. He was not proud of his life.

“I
was in the army too. About the same age as you probably. Growing up, I
wanted to be a soldier.” Jake chuckled weakly, “I was devastated when
the Vietnam War ended. It seemed like my last chance at the time.”

“Why
did it matter?” Will asked quietly. Jake dropped his eyes from their
contemplation of the ceiling and his eyes traced a line from the young
man’s throat, along his clean jaw, and to the deep brown eyes. Their
eyes locked for a beat, and then Jake dropped his eyes to the floor.

“It
wasn’t patriotism. I suppose I was trying to convince myself I was
brave.” Sitting in Rammstein for a tour, drowning his attraction for
Tony in German beer had not made him feel brave. “Why did you join the
army Will, was it 9/11?”

“It might have
been patriotism. It was the right thing to do.” His bitter tone made
Jake look up, back into Will’s eyes. “Honestly, I was hurt and running
away. The other side of the pond seemed far enough. It really wasn’t.”
Will laughed weakly in his turn.

The
confession brought Jake and Will closer. “You were braver than me. You
would have to be.” Something went dead in Will’s eyes. The young man
stared right through him at something incomprehensible to Jake.

“My
first time? When the balloon went up, we started up the hill towards
the Kraut nests. I shit my pants at the first sound of the whizz-bangs.
Sixteen you know? Couldn’t shake the funk thinking about you all the
time.” Jake missed the unexpected pronoun as he tried to untangle the
slang Will was using. His sense of the unreal was growing. “I was the
baby in the outfit. My mates got me gassed before we left so I wouldn't
freeze right there in the trench. I was their kid, try not to think
about how many of them took a bullet shielding me.” Will’s voice was
hollow. “That was Vimy, and then of course there was Passchendaele.” There was a pause as Will pulled himself back from somewhere.

Jake latched on to what he could. “You were sixteen?”

“I took the train to Calgary to sign up. The gits could care less if I wasn’t of age.”

Jake
shook his head and sat up. Will’s reply was a lot to process. Jake got
up and poured himself a Rye. He paused to place a hand on Will’s
shoulder just to remind himself he had practically carried the young
man’s solid body into his house. Jake took a cautious sip and ran
through the possibilities; the impossibilities. “Just a kid.” He finally
murmured, thinking of his son Theo.

“You
don’t believe that at sixteen Jake. Arrogant shits we were. At least
till you come up against something like that.” Will shivered and stood
up in his turn. He walked over to the fireplace and leaned on the
mantle, eyes on the artificial logs. “Tell me something more Jake.”

Will’s
story reminded Jake of how young the man was. He did not seem as old as
he had been. The age was in Will’s face. Standing with his back to
Jake, he radiated youth. Jake took another sip of Rye and began telling
Will about his birth in Poland, immigrating to the United States with
his parents, and then his impulse to come to Western Canada. It was not
that he accepted Will’s story. He just needed to be with the young man
more than anything else. They shifted to the dining room table and Jake
brought them both a coffee. Will let his sit in front of him, untouched
as the night went on. Will vanished without a word of warning in a
moment when Jake looked down at his mug.

The
visits continued almost every night, but there was no predictable
rhythm to them. Jake welcomed the haunting. He was cleaning up in the
small bedroom, thinking practically of the night his daughter might
sleep in it, when Will appeared in the door. Jake smiled a
welcome. He surprised himself by hugging the young man. Jake stepped
back and bashfully stammered, “I thought I would do that now. You have a
way of vanishing.” Will smiled at that and the casual embrace shifted
the distance between them.

Jake put
everything into the house renovation, work, and his nights wilh Will.
The few hours of sleep he enjoyed seemed to carry him through the days.
He might step out for a bit with colleagues in the early evening, but by
11:30 he was home.

He was stretched out
on his bed sleeping when Will gently shook him awake. Jake smiled up at
him. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” There was never any explanation
for Will’s comings and goings. The young man sat close to him with one
leg tucked beneath the other. Jake lifted a hand and brushed it against
Will’s back with his knuckles. The eighteen-year old was a ghost, and
Jake still felt self conscious about his attraction.

“You
were engaged, you married.” Will shifted a little on the bed beside
him. He was picking up from where their last conversation had ended
abruptly. Jake pulled his hand away from the young man’s back.

“For
about ten years.” He admitted. “I tried, but I wasn’t what she needed.
There’s Kate and Theo in Saskatoon now.” Will nodded thoughtfully. “I
had a friend, a lover I guess you would say, in Germany.” It seemed
important to confess that to Will.

Will
shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I met a Frenchman on leave. He was in
his twenties and seemed very sophisticated to me. We were together until
they sent me back to the front.” He shrugged again, “En amour comme à la guerre.”

“Factum
non est Deus ut noceret mihi.” Jake murmured abstractly in rusty high
school Latin, and he had no idea what he had just said. Will nodded and
agreed, they had not done it to hurt each other. The eighteen-year old
leaned in toward Jake. Jake stopped him. “Am I going insane?” Will shook
his head slightly. He leaned in further so Jake put a hand on his
chest. “Why are you here?” Jake whispered desperately.

“Parce
que vous êtes ici, mon amour.” Will replied softly, and his lips closed
on Jake’s. Jake shrugged off all reason and met the kiss. He pulled
Will across his body and rolled over his chest. Will’s stiff fingers
raked through Jake’s greying hair.

Dangerous Liaisons

Chris
opened his eyes in the grey twilight. He could have wept. Once again,
he rolled over looking for his bottle. It was empty. He was not going to
escape back to his dream so easily. The boy flopped back on the half
burnt mattress he had found upstairs. He pulled the ragged blankets up
to his chin. He could feel the cold now. The nights were gradually worse
and the boy did not know what he should do. He was close to something,
he could not go back to Brandon now. Chris would go nuts if he went back
now.

The cocktail he had taken lingered.
He had not been eating well lately and the runs were bad. He probably
should eat something, but what he wanted was another fix. The shakes
started. Chris reached a hand out from under his blankets and grabbed a
water bottle. His hand was shaking so violently he could not get it to
his mouth without spilling it on his face. After a painful swallow,
Chris started crying.

It took him a long
time to pull himself together. He needed to solve the food problem
first. Out of curiosity, Chris passed by the bank on his way to the bar.
It was mid afternoon on a Tuesday, he knew he was making a mistake, but
he needed something to eat if he was going to make it to 4:00 pm. He
did not have the money for a fix either. That did not matter, Chris
would find a way to work that out.

The
banker was at his desk talking to an older couple. Chris watched him
fussing with papers and his computer. After a few minutes he rose from
his seat and headed for his door. Chris took that as his cue to leave.
The older man would see him staring in the window when he came back. The
boy walked on to the alley behind the bar.

Chris
left the alley an hour later with twenty dollars and a slight bruising
on his right cheek. Tears of anger blurred his eyes as he cut across the
street. He went directly to the Pita Pit wanting to order a meal, and
rushed to the bathroom to vomit. The tears were gone. The anger and fear
remained. Chris tore into the pita, pausing of wash it down with a
Pepsi. It was done too soon. While he nursed the last of his drink, he
considered his situation. The second john stiffed him. He got backhanded
when he told the man what he thought of that. That put Chris off going
back to work after dark.

There were
teenagers Chris had met through the summer. He had met his dealer at a
house party the week before school started. He gave everyone a
convincing story about himself. Chris had skills. There were a couple of
people Chris could go to. He had been grooming them over the last two
months. He left the Pita Pit and headed north to Peacock. When he got
there, he took his post at the bus stop. Before long, he saw a gawky
seventeen year old approaching with a full book bag and an obo under his
arm. The teen’s blemished face broke into a shy grin when he saw Chris.

“Hey
Brogan, how’s it going?” The older teen conceded it was going well
enough. Chris brushed against Brogan suggestively as they started to
talk. Once it was clear that Brogan’s mother was at work at the
hospital, Chris joined the crowd flowing onto the bus. He pressed a knee
into Brogan’s leg as the bus headed up town.

Brogan
lived across town and with the inevitable stopping and starting it was a
long journey. Chris cultivated Brogan with half a mind, distracted by
thoughts of how far he had drifted away from the world of school. He
would have started grade ten in Brandon. Chris left home without
friends. Brogan chatted on happily, content with Chris beside him. Chris
stared enviously at two boys his age sitting nearby. He did not have
the knack for holding on to friends. It was as if nobody was good enough
for him. The boy ran from the obvious alternative.

Brogan’s
brother, Caleb was two years younger than Chris and seemed far more at
ease with himself than the seventeen-year old. Chris perved on the fresh
faced boy as the two brothers negotiated supper details and the
responsible Brogan reviewed familiar ground rules. Caleb drifted off to
settle in and Chris turned his attention back to Brogan.

“Would
it be okay if I did a load of laundry?” Brogan’s face was a mixture of
embarrassment and pity. Brogan had been led to believe Chris’ came from a
precarious background and his mother was always one step ahead of a
rent collector. Chris was an opportunity for Christian charity. The high
school senior covered his first reaction badly and told Chris to be his
guest.

Chris asked if Brogan could lend
him some sweats while he washed. After a pause, Brogan suggested Caleb
might have something that fit better. He showed Chris his room before
ducking into his brother’s room to rummage through his clothes. Chris
stripped. Brogan hit an invisible wall coming back into his bedroom.
Chris knew he had flustered him.

The
younger boy pulled the bashful teen farther into the bedroom and closed
the door. Chris plucked the tee shirt and sweats out of Brogan’s hands.
He calculated silence would be best. Brogan was not good with words.
Chris sat on Brogan’s bed and fell back onto his elbows. He let his
slightly parted legs and the curve of his torso lure Brogan over.

“I
have not seen you lately.” Brogan offered horsley as he sat. His eyes
were frozen somewhere near Chris’ chin, afraid to meet his eyes, or
drift down the inviting body beside him.

“I’ve
been trying to work weekends.” Chris was pushing Brogan far beyond the
hesitant kisses and incidental groping of the summer. Brogan was at a
loss with the situation. Chris went on the offensive. “Lie down.” When
the older boy froze beside him, Chris rolled on his side and firmly
pushed him onto his back. He gave Brogan a chaste kiss and a smile to
ease his anxiety.

Chris opened Brogan’s
pants slowly. How many times had he done this in Brandon, Manitoba? When
had he started? Caleb’s age probably. Brogan was beginning to pant in
frightened anticipation. Most of the boys had liked this part. It all
went badly after that. None of them were ever... but why should it have mattered so much to him? Who am I looking for anyway? Chris spread Brogan’s Dockers. “Lift your ass.” He pulled the pants and briefs down far enough.

Chris
wrapped his fingers around the teen’s shaft expertly, beginning his
message. He watched Brogan grow between his fingers clinically. His
heart was dead, or wandered off somewhere. Chris glanced at Brogan’s
face. The boy was staring at the ceiling, lips parted. Chris watched the
growing movement of the teen’s chest and clenching of his abdomen. He
wasn’t much interested in the faces of the men he did. Their thoughts no
longer worried him after he had estimated their capacity to hurt him.

The
house seemed silent, except for Brogan’s short pants. Chris judged the
teen ready and swallowed the swollen shaft in an economical movement. It
seemed to be Brogan’s nature to be quiet, or perhaps he was frightened
his younger brother would discover them together. He lay tense below
Chris, as the boy played the obo on his hard shaft. Chris drifted in his
dream as his mouth slowly rode back and forth. He became unaware of
Brogan’s staggered breaths and high pitched wheezing. Chris was with the
other one, lips remembering someone else, when the jets started. Brogan
was no old pervert in an alley. His vitality filled the boy’s mouth,
capturing his senses. The yeastiness of it mingled with the sharp musk
of his crotch. Chris took a deep breath in and let go of his dream.

He
pulled off the spent cock slowly, letting it drop into the tangled nest
of hair. After a swallow, Chris pulled the cock back into his mouth to
clean it off. Brogan was murmuring something Chris did not pay attention
to. With a final play of his tongue along the fading shaft, he released
Brogan. Chris needed something for the rough edges, anything. Brogan
was lifting himself off the bed, so Chris fell back to his earlier
position and smiled at him. Brogan gave his smile a shy reflection.

Brogan
gathered Chris’ clothes, including the hoodie and with a last flustered
smile left with the laundry. Chris sighed to himself from the bed
before grabbing Caleb’s borrowed clothes and searching out the bathroom.
There was a bottle of codeine cough syrup in the cabinet. Chris popped
three Advil in his mouth and chased them down with the whole bottle. The
pharmaceuticals were a disappointment. Brogan’s mother might have an on
suit. He would have to check that out. Chris had not had the luxury of a
shower in some time. He took his time.

Chris
forced himself to eat the meal Brogan and his brother made. They seemed
to like each other. Chris’ brother had not liked him much at the end.
There had been too much blow back from school friends and their history
together made Chris’ brother uncomfortable around him. Chris ate in
silence as he would at home and let the brothers chatter. Brogan’s
glances his way signalled that there would be a second inning later in
the evening. Caleb’s eyes told him he was an unusual event in the house.
Chris would not have been surprised if he was Brogan’s first visitor.
Caleb would have friends over. The thirteen-year old’s every action
seemed like a flirtation to Chris.

The
brothers actually cleaned up the kitchen together. Chris excused himself
and hunted for their mother’s bathroom. It was a find. Caleb and
Brogan’s mother was a nurse and she evidently liked her prescriptions.
Chris had an impulse to scoop up all the bottles in the cabinet. He
restrained himself. If he played it right, he could come back for more.
After a moment Chris was honest with himself. He never played it right.
There was a small plastic bag in the waste basket beside the toilet.
Chris dumped about three quarters of each bottle into the bag. He
stashed the bag in his freshly cleaned hoodie before rejoining the
brothers.

Brogan was cautious around his
brother for the rest of the evening. If Caleb was curious about Chris’
continued presence, he did not show it. The three of them whiled away
the evening with TV and video games. At 10:00 pm Brogan cleaned up the
snacks and bullied his brother into going to bed. Caleb’s surprise
suggested this was unusual.

Brogan waited a
decent interval before suggesting they go back to his room. Will could
have walked out of the house right then, but he was hoping to take a few
more things that might not be noticed before he did. While the brothers
enjoyed their evening, the homeless kid was marking the location of
Brogan’s book bag and plotting his exit. Chris put a good face on it
when Brogan grabbed a bottle of rye and two expensive glasses. The
seventeen-year old was more of a man on a school night than Chris gave
him credit. When they reached the bedroom, Brogan poured a generous
amount into each glass and then might have panicked a little, because he
excused himself. While he was away, Chris upended the bottle of rye,
and let the numbing fluid pour down his throat.

Brogan
let Chris take the lead again. The older teen seemed willing to go
where he led for the next hour. With the help of the rye, Brogan became
more aggressive. He pressed Chris down with his superior weight.
Brogan’s shirt was off and on his own initiative, he had stripped Chris
naked. His belt buckle kept digging into Chris as dry humped his leg.
Chris tired of necking and the buzz was off, so he pushed Brogan away
gently. Once he was free of Brogan, Chris swung his legs over the side
of the bed and tipped the bottle of rye once more.

“Take it easy Chris.” He put the bottle down and smiled reassuringly.

“No
worries guy, I’ll be right back. Why don't you take your pants off?”
That earned him a smile. Chris slipped into the bathroom as quietly as
he could. After he washed up, Chris cast about for some lubricant. He
went back to Brogan with a bottle of hand lotion. He let Brogan take him
from behind. The teen did not seem to care that Chris simply lay there,
arms wrapped around a pillow, staring stonily at the digital clock
change slowly beside the bed.

Afterward,
Chris lay on his side waiting impatiently for Brogan to fall asleep. The
bed was warm. The house was warm. It had been some time since he felt
this comfortable. The boy reflected that if he had a phone, he might be
able to arrange more nights inside. Winter was not far off. The burnt
out house was going to be cold. He did not know enough people to couch
surf. What choice did he have? Go home to Brandon, or hustle his way
indoors. That really was not a choice at all.

Chris
was jolted awake by Brogan’s probing cock. He tried to roll away but
the teenager whispered in his ear and pushed him down onto the mattress
firmly. Hands pressed him down. Chris’ legs were forced open as Brogan’s
erection slid along him. He pulled himself up on his elbows. A strong
arm snaked around his chest pressing him against Brogan’s chest. The
other hand was spreading his cheeks and guiding the teen’s shaft back
into Chris. He was not ready for it, but it did not matter. Chris
collapsed back onto the mattress and let it happen. Brogan’s whispered
words of praise and encouragement meant nothing to him.

He
rolled on his back staring at the ceiling until he was sure Brogan had
fallen back to sleep. The teen had turned toward the wall indifferent to
Chris. He lay there on a slow burn. Chris knew he had seduced the
seventeen-year old into this. It had been a cold calculation he now
regretted. Being forced by Brogan left him angry.

Chris
slid silently out of the bed and pulled his pants on. The digital clock
cast a red glow on Brogan’s wallet. Chris watched the sleeping teen as
he picked it up. There was cash. It went into a pocket. The card was
useless to him, so he left it. He watched Brogan’s back as he gently
closed the door. When he turned to go, he discovered Caleb in the
bathroom doorway watching him.

The
thirteen-year old was standing in his briefs, there was a spot where he
had leaked a little. It came to Chris that he looked achingly innocent
as he stared back in his surprise. Brogan had just used him like a dirty
sock and Chris suddenly wanted to hurt Caleb’s older brother. He lifted
a finger to his lips and Caleb’s lips curled into a small smile of
understanding. When Caleb reached his bedroom door, Chris reached out a
hand to stop him. He dropped his clothes by the door and pushed Caleb
gently inside his room.

Chris put his
hands on the boy’s shoulders and smiled a reassurance. Caleb stood
uncertainly before him as Chris’ fingers began traveling down his arms
and then across his flat chest. Chris’ eyes stayed locked on Brogan’s
brother’s innocent face. Caleb’s wide eyes flicked down occasionally to
follow the progress of the older boy’s hands as he gentled the skittish
boy. The boy swayed slightly as Chris hooked his thumbs into the
waistband of his briefs. As the cotton briefs slid down, Chris dropped
to his knees before the thirteen-year old. His mouth fell on the young
cock while a hand slid between Caleb’s smooth thighs and up to cup the
boy’s left cheek.

Chris lost himself in
the young boy’s fresh scent. He pumped the hard little rod by pressing
his hand into the soft flesh of his ass. He pulled off, wanting to kiss
the globes nestled below the throbbing rod. Caleb’s wet shaft slid along
his nose as he tasted each egg. Chris paused with his head pressed
against Caleb’s abdomen remembering his own first time. Caleb’s virgin
flesh recalled his only love, still somewhere in his mind. A lazy day,
summer sounds drifting through a sash window on an imperceptible breeze.
Chris devoured Caleb’s cock again, savaging the boy’s sex, punishing
himself with his impossible dreams of love. Caleb came in a tremble with
three soft cries, “ah, ah, ah.”

“Jesus
Christ” Caleb exclaimed in a whisper as Chris released his organ. The
boy’s voice brought Chris back to the present. This was not his dream,
the thirteen-year old was nobody to him. Chris thought bitterly of the
steady trickle of men in the alley, rides in cars, and horny teenagers
like Brogan. Everyone wanted to masterbate into his mouth or anus.
His thumb slipped into Caleb’s warm crack and rubbed his bud. Chris
needed more. There was no going back. There never was. He did not care.

Chris
stood up, letting a hand trail up over Caleb’s wet crotch. He spun the
boy around and pushed him down onto his bed. Caleb looked back over his
shoulder as Chris opened his pants, daring the boy to cry out. Caleb
only gazed back like an animal at bay. Chris dragged Caleb farther onto
the bed pulling the boy’s legs up until his knees were splayed awkwardly
on either side of his chest, his sex open for Chris’ penetration.

As
his cock tapped at Caleb, Chris reached back to his own anus and used
two fingers to scoop out the last of the lotion mixed with Brogan’s cum.
Caleb cried out as he began to finger the thirteen-year old’s hole.
Caleb clamped his other hand over the boy’s mouth, stifling him. Chris
pushed his angry organ in slowly to give the boy a chance to adjust. One
finger slipped between Caleb’s soft lips and Chris’ pain mingled with
the boy’s as Caleb bit down. He was slower, and probably gentler than
Brogan had been with him. Chris was more experienced. Soft cries and
short grunts escaped between Chris’ fingers. The noise stopped as Caleb
finally stretched around the sliding shaft, so Chris shifted his hands
to Caleb’s narrow hips, pulling him on his shaft and massaging his back
as he pulled away. With one last push, Chris came deep in the boy.

When
Chris’ cock was finally still, Caleb shifted his head from where it had
been buried in a pillow. After the Chris pulled out, Caleb crawled
forward, twisting around to look at the length of the the older boy’s
proud organ. Chris stooped down and used Caleb’s discarded briefs to
clean himself. He closed his jeans without any rush, then he stopped to
look at the naked curves of the boy. Glittering eyes locked on his,
condemning him, expecting something? Caleb was a sweet boy, Chris
thought, but Caleb could not fill the empty space within. Chris noticed a
prescription bottle next to Caleb’s bed. The boy watched him silently
as he picked it up. Chris reached again for an iPod attached to its
charger. His eyes left Caleb’s long enough to check its security, seeing
none, he added it to his pocket. Chris left him without another glance.

There
was no angry hue and cry as Chris walked through the park along the
rail yards. He had silently moved around the kitchen gathering food and a
couple of bottles of hard liquor. He dumped Brogan’s school books on
the floor and used his bookbag. As an afterthought, Chris took Caleb’s
winter coat. He kept taking huge swigs from a bottle of vodka as he
walked. Halfway along the path he started sobbing.

He
had raped Caleb to punish Brogan for only doing what he had taught him
to do. He violated a sweet boy to vent his rage at everyone who had let
him down. It just proved what a worthless train wreck he was. He was
just a good fuck. He had been damaged goods all his life and he spoiled
every relationship he touched. “What’s wrong with me?” Chris hurled the
vodka toward the tracks, regretting the waste as soon as the cold bottle
slipped from his fingers. “Sorry Caleb.” He whispered to the cold night
air.

All Hallows' Eve

Jake
blinked the sleep from his eyes and relaxed in the warm cocoon of the
blankets. The snow last night had started around midnight. He and Will
had walked about the back yard amidst the slowly falling flakes. They
talked of Will’s time growing up in Moose Jaw before The Great War.
Their random exploration took them to the front and to Jake’s surprise,
Will started leading him down the street. Jake stopped and watched his
spectral lover walking along the path, making footprints in the snow. He
called out to him, so Will turned to reply, “I’m stronger now.” He
waited for Jake to catch up and then led him on down the tree lined
street. After a couple of blocks Jake stopped before a fire ravaged
building. Jake looked at the charred scars on the cedar siding and
gaping windows. It was the picture of a haunted house lost in overgrown
caragana bushes and leaf stripped trees. Jake thought it a bleak,
spiritless place. “I wouldn’t have known two out of ten houses we past.”
Will said sadly.

“I suppose not.” Jake
replied surveying the burnt wreck and the other old houses up and down
the street. “I’m forty-five and if I was to go back to New Jersey where I
grew up, I’m sure I would find it changed.” Jake realized that Will’s
comment about the neighbourhood was the first evidence he was aware the
world had changed since his time.

Will
slapped his shoulder and ducked into the narrow space of the front walk
between two looming bushes. The pair walked around the house to the back
yard. Jake wrinkled his nose at the pungent odour of faeces and started
checking his steps carefully. The house fire had been some time ago
apparently. “I can’t believe the city let this stand for so long.”

“It’s
hidden on a quiet street.” Will suggested. He pointed at the back door.
“It looks like kids have been inside. The nights are getting cold.
Shelter is shelter to the desperate.” The thought spoiled their magical
walk. “Take me home Jake. You must be getting cold.” Whatever darkness
had filled his heart at seeing the burn shell vanished when Will turned
his smile on. They left the desolation behind them, walking back the way
they had come holding hands.

Jake rolled
onto his back in the bed, contented in the memory and sensations of
making love to Will. He realized with a start that Will still lay beside
him. He was turned toward Jake. “Not yet gone?” Jake whispered.

“Not
yet.” A smile played over Will’s lips and Jake had to kiss it away.
Will’s hand started exploring and Jake tingled. The eighteen-year old
made him feel young. When they were joined, he forgot the chasm of age,
disjointed timelines, or even the thorny issue of being alive or dead.
Their love together erased all mistakes. Will bewitched the sensible
banker. His whole muddled life of missteps and confusion led to this
rightness with a young man, dead for almost a century.

From
the first, the pair fit together like dance partners, familiar with the
space, sensitive to the other's strength or weakness. Will knew Jake’s
needs and Jake discovered he had a knack for satisfying his young
partner. It was so unlike Tony in Germany. Their couplings could be
aggressive, but in the late October morning it was a gentle union. Jake
opened himself to Will, wrapping his legs around the young man’s hard
body, loving his gentle touch. Jake covered Will’s mouth with soft
kisses when his young partner climaxed. Will stayed strong, keeping Jake
filled for an exquisite time before finally fading.

When
Jake returned from the bathroom, Will was still there. Jake admired the
curve his torso displayed so well. His slightly parted thighs drew
Jake’s attention to Will’s spent manhood. Their eyes met. Will slid off
the side of the bed and onto his knees. He reached a hand between Jake’s
thighs, brushing against his scrotum before settling on Jake’s tense
right cheek. The young man drew Jake’s aching cock into his mouth,
letting the hand guide him in and out slowly. Jake shivered as he swayed
against Will’s mobile mouth. Time was erased as the familiar dance
continued. Jake and Will could have continued into eternity that way.

After
Jake came, Will rested his head against the man’s abdomen. His hand
still cupped Jake’s ass firmly. Will’s thumb strayed into the soft
crease and massaged Jake’s sensitive anus, still lubricated from their
love making. Jake realized, for the first time, he could sense Will
leaving him. It was as if the young man fluttered in and out of his
presence, trying to cling to their connection. Then his lover was
finally gone, all that was left were tears on Jake’s body, spilled by
some unexpected grief of Will’s.

Jake
headed to the store after work, still feeling fulfilled from his
nocturnal wanderings and the morning of love making. It was hard not to
smile at the turn his life had taken. His enchanted affair distracted
Jake from the world around. A store display reminded him Zaduszki was at
hand, and that meant Halloween. Jake’s parents would have taken All
Souls Day seriously, regretting not being in Poland for at least this
one day each year. It would be Jake’s first Halloween in his new home.

He
eyed the paraphernalia of the evening. There were jack o'lantern,
plastic headstones and costumes of all sorts. A ghoulish wraith in
rotting shrouds hung beside the headstones. Some of Will’s enchantment
faded as he leaned on his cart. Jake had been haunted for a month or so.
Jakub Czarny crossed himself superstitiously, but then his humour
returned. Will would probably laugh at the ghoulish wraith when he saw
it. They had not talked about Will’s death in 1919 since the beginning.
His appearance in the house and connection to Jake remained a mystery.
Zaduszki was still on his mind as he paused for a box of candies. The
wraith glared at him in the checkout line.

The
boy in the green and gray striped hoodie was leaning against a tree in
the boulevard. Jake noted the addition of a black coat and a book bag.
The face was hidden in the hood, but Jake had no trouble remembering it.
Jake looked again when he got out of the car, trailing his foolish
ornament. The boy turned his head as Jake approached and seemed to
follow him with his eyes as passed. It seemed they were at a social
impasse though. He expected the teenager to move on down the sidewalk.
Jake watched him with increasing interest as he wandered the porch
looking for a place to hang the wraith.

“Try
the hook beside the far left pillar.” Jake turned to look at the boy.
He had pushed his hood off a mop of tangled hair that tickled his
eyelashes. Jake paced across the porch and scouted out the hook. “To the
left I think.” There was a rusty old hook strong enough to hold a
plant.

“Thanks,” Jake said as he hung his decoration.

Chris
watched the old man as he unlocked his front door. He changed his mind.
The banker was not exactly old. It was not like the man was retired and
using a walker. There was no ponch flopping over a sagging belt. Chris’
dad had pretty much let himself go. The banker seemed fit enough. There
was a youthful bounce to his step. The man walked back to his car,
popping the trunk as he went with his key. He did not look directly at
Chris, but the boy thought he could read the man’s mind. There was
interest there. Chris followed him over to the back of the car. “Let me
give you a hand.” He did not wait for an answer. Chris grabbed one of
the grocery bins and waited for the banker’s reaction. His quarry did
pause while Chris grabbed the bin. He was being measured. Chris tried
not to look like trouble as the man gave him a frank assessment. The boy
was not sure if he would pass the test.

Jake
wondered what was going on. He could not read the boy at all, then
again, his relationship with his son Theo was just as challenged. Maybe
the cute kid just wanted to rake his leaves. He raised an eyebrow and
shrugged, he was game to learn a little more about the boy from his
office window. “Sure,” he added as the young teenager stood holding the
bin. There was a flicker of relief in the boy’s face. The boy took off
in front, leaving Jake to close his trunk. Jake reflected that after
decades of emotional solitude, beautiful young men were stumbling right
over him now.

Chris took the offensive as
soon as he entered the front door. He paused to kick off his battered
shoes and drop his possessions before continuing on to the kitchen.
After he dropped the bin on the counter, he took his coat and hoodie
off. He was pulling items out of the bin before the banker even made it
into the kitchen. He knew the man had stopped with his own load and was
now watching him from the door into the dining room. Chris tossed his
name as casually as he could over his shoulder at the man.

“Call me Jake.”

Chris
kept carefully taking items out of the bin. The banker had a name. They
were officially not exactly strangers. When his bin was empty, Chris
carried it into the dining room and left it on the floor. When he came
back into the kitchen, Jake ripped the box of candy open and held it out
to Chris. “Take these to the front door.” Chris snagged a few tiny
chocolate bars before heading back. As soon as there was room, he hopped
up onto the counter amidst the scattered groceries. I’m just another item to put away Jake, the boy added to himself.

Jake
worked around the young teenager slowly nibbling at a block of milk
chocolate. Chris was watching his simplest motions. It was admittedly a
seductive pose on the boy’s part, though Jake thought it unlikely he
realized it. The boy’s chocolate was finally done and so was putting the
food away. What’s going on between us? Jake
wondered. Jake counter attacked. He hopped up on the counter near Chris
and met the boy’s beautiful dark brown eyes. “Shouldn’t you be getting
home Chris?” He waited out the long silence that followed.

Chris
broke contact and studied a toe poking through his worn sock. He
surprised them both by letting the thrust through his guard , “I don’t
have a home to go to.” The boy looked at the man to see how he took
this. Jake looked sad. Chris turned his face to the bare kitchen wall.
His face burned as he sold his ass one more time.

The
worn clothing, same as he had seen almost a month earlier outside his
office. The boy’s face, stretched and anxious. Jake could see it. He saw
the blush as well. Jake’s heart went out to the boy. “I’m hungry, are
you hungry Chris?” The boy nodded silently, but he would not turn his
face away from the wall.

Jake considered
what to cook and settled on the easiest thing. He rooted out a package
of frozen burger patties. After a moment’s consideration, he put three
in the pan. The doorbell rang while Jake was organizing the rest of the
simple meal. “Halloween treaters.” He glanced at Chris who had not moved
off the counter.

Chris could hear the
voices outside. He took the hint and dropped of the counter. The smell
of cooking meat made him nauseous so he was glad for an excuse to leave
the kitchen. He was not in control anymore. Jake had him off balance
now. After he took care of the kids at the door, he wandered around the
main floor keeping his distance from the man while he recovered. It was
reassuring to see Jake had not really changed his house. The doorbell
rang as he was taking a couple of Caleb’s Ritalin. He fed the princess
and her Star Wars companion, then stood looking out the window waiting
for some sort of relief.

“Not many kids at
the door tonight.” Jake broke the silence between them. Chris had
already eaten both of his burgers, but he had shown little enthusiasm.
That worried Jake a little as he worked through his meal more slowly.
The teen commented that he had not seen many children in the
neighborhood. “Have you been living here long?” It was the wrong thing
to say. Chris gave him a terse no, and tensed up. Jake tried to smooth
things over by changing the subject back to himself. “I’ve only been in
the neighborhood for a couple of months.”

“Why
did you buy this house?” Chris asked suddenly. Jake thought a moment
before answering. The boy listened as he explained he did not really
know why. He had seen it while he was walking, and the house just felt
like it was where he needed to be. That seemed inadequate, so he
mentioned a few features he liked about the house. It was a character
home. He liked the sense of history. Chris interrupted him, “It was the
home of a doctor. His name was Anthony Childe. I think he built it.”
That interested Jake.

Jake went on to
tell the boy something about his life. Whenever Jake paused, sure he was
boring the boy, Chris prodded him to continue with another question.
Children came to the door to interrupt them. Chris took it as his duty
to give them candy. At one point, while Chris was at the door, Jake
thoughtlessly poured himself a rye. It was something he might have done
chatting with Will before they went to the bedroom. After the kid
watched him take a sip, he thought better of it. The glass lay between
them as they hunted for safe words to ease the tension.

“I
think that must be the last of them.” Jake decided after the door had
been silent for half an hour. He had turned on the news to fill the
growing distance between them, but returned to the table when he saw
that the teenager had no intention of moving. Chris stared at his hands,
folded on the table. One hand seemed to hold the other down. “I guess
we should get you settled.” Jake concluded.

Chris
snatched the glass Jake had abandoned between them and before Jake
could react, tossed it off in one swallow. His hand fluttered as he put
the glass down and clamped the other over it again. Chris cleared his
voice, “I should clean up then.”

“Sure,”
Jake replied, puzzled by the teenager’s anxiety. “Grab your bag when you
go upstairs.” Chris moved away silently. Jake took the time to clean up
the kitchen, and then sat down in the living room with the news
channel. He wondered what Will would think about Chris the next time his
young lover showed up. In consternation, Jake realized the two men
would have to be very discrete about their relationship while he had the
boy staying with him. Why was he letting the kid stay anyway? Random
underage teenagers were trouble for single men. Like buying a house he
did not really need, Jake could not give himself a good answer beyond
feeling it was necessary.

The hamburger he
choked down sat heavily in his stomach. There was no way to enjoy the
hot food when he knew he would have to pay for it before he could escape
again. Chris dropped his bag in the man’s room. A poorly made double
bed, long chest of drawers, and a chair. Nothing on the white walls, no
pharmaceuticals in the top drawer beside the bed, but of course, the boy
found lubricant. There was spray bottle of nitroglycerin at hand. Chris
stripped down before looking in the other two small rooms. They were
equally bare. A twin bed centred on the old cedar floors that had been
hidden by well worn carpets the last time Chris had been upstairs.

His
breath caught when he opened the door to the other room and saw the
deep royal blue of the new wallpaper. The bed was in the right place
too. He traced a hand along the fresh paper as he approached the window.
He fell to his knees looking at the dark window across the way. The
sash glided up after a small struggle. Cold October air washed over his
face, raising goosebumps on his bare flesh. “Hey John, are you awake?”
Chris’ voice was lost in the night. Nobody who knew him would have
recognized the utter desperation and unbearable longing in the
fifteen-year old’s passionate call. He imagined a movement in the
curtain opposite. It stopped his heart, and then the desolation
returned. The naked boy closed the window reluctantly, shutting out the
silence. His heart hardened a little more against the world, which was
sad, because John was indeed finally awake and listening to him.

Chris
turned and sat with his back against wall below the window. He rested
his forearms limply on raised knees and contemplated his situation
wearily one more time. It would be nice if Jake let him sleep in his
room, Chris thought wistfully. His stomach tightened. There was over the
counter pain relief in the medicine cabinet. Chris could always count
on that anyway. He chewed a handful like candy. He stayed in the shower a
long time.

Afterward, Chris sat on Jake’s
bed with his bag between his legs. His drug supply was actually pretty
good. The stuff he had lifted from Brogan’s mother, and Caleb’s Ritalin
would tide him over for a while. He would not have to bargain with his
abusive dealer right away. Dealing with the man downstairs was all he
thought he could handle at the moment. It did not do Chris any good
thinking beyond the next day. Since he had made it to Moose Jaw, he
simply worked toward the next fix that would kickstart the dreaming.

With
a heavy sigh, Chris pulled the meagre choice of clothing out of his
book bag. He had Caleb’s clothes still. They would do. Caleb might even
be ready to see the humour in it. Everything else got stuffed back into
his bag. The shirt did not smell like Caleb as he pulled it over his
head. It was not the stuff of his dreams either. Chris felt a bit safer
after he was dressed again.

Jake had not
followed him upstairs. This surprised Chris a little. He could hear the
TV noises from below. The man had switched to a hockey game, maybe gone
back to replace the drink Chris had stolen. Chris fretted about it all
for a while, planning to wait the man out, and then let the anger build
inside of him. The anger was always his shield. When he thought he was
ready, he tossed his bag toward the chair and stood up. Almost as an
afterthought, Chris squeezed some lubricant for himself. He could not
read Jake like he could the old farts in the alley or through the open
passenger doors as they lured him in. He was a man though.

Jake
shifted his attention to the lean teenager stomping down the steep
stairs with a dark cloud in his face. The cloud evaporated into
adolescent uncertainty as soon as their eyes met. He watch Chris slow
and halt three steps from the bottom. The boy stood one foot on each
tread for a bit, then sat down. Jake shifted back to the game, his mind
mostly on the attractive boy wearing grey sweats and a tight tee shirt.
Chris was jumpy, but Jake could understand that. His heart sort of went
out to the boy.

“Come on down Chris. Don't look so glum. Are you into hockey?”

The
teen bumped down a step and then moved over to the couch where Jake was
slouched with his feet on the coffee table. He dropped onto the far
cushion, fidgeting with his hands before clasping them in his lap. “Can I
have a drink?”

“I don’t have anything. Except Club Soda and juice. Which would you like?”

“Some
of that rye, or vodka would be better.” Chris kept his resentment
burning. He did not need to be groomed like he had seduced Brogan and so
many other boys. This was a simple exchange: sex for shelter. Chris bit
his lip for a moment, then blurted out, “Why are we watching hockey?”
He turned his gaze on Jake, forcing his features into the mask he wore
in the bar alley.

“How old are you Chris?”

“Seriously?”
Chris was scornful. That broke his mask and exposed him to Jake’s
possible anger. The teen could not help himself though. If it was not
going to be a middle aged masterbation like in the alley, then Chris
desperately needed Jake to be a worshipful closet queen in the back set
of a car. He wanted to see Jake’s desire. He did not need the look of
adult concern Jake was giving him. It was so much frustrating hypocrisy.
“Why are we still watching hockey?” He accused.

“I
like hockey, sorry.” Jake replied in a soothing voice. He picked up the
remote and turned off the TV. “Grab a juice if you like kid. I’m going
to change too.” Jake reached across the couch and actually patted Chris’
leg. After Jake padded up the stairs, Chris went to the kitchen for
tall glass. There was vodka near the rye in the dining room. Jake had
not actually told him he could not have a drink. Chris poured his glass
half full, then for good measure downed a bit of the excellent rye right
from the bottle. Just in case the man did object, Chris topped up the
glass with some juice.

He tried to sip the
drink rather than pour it all down his throat and go back for more.
Chris leaned against the counter, one foot bouncing anxiously on the
other. He had let himself be taken to cheap hotel rooms twice. It turned
out most johns did not think he was worth the price or time. He went to
a house in town once. Once was enough for Chris. He had just arrived in
Moose Jaw and he was desperate. The first dealer he found pimped him
out to a suit with a cocaine habit who had the house to himself for the
weekend. The asshole worked out a few fantasies over Chris’ bound body.
Chris found the bar down town and a new dealer. He also swore off house
visits.

There had been nothing frightening
to find upstairs. Chris took his glass down to the basement. When he
first broke into his house, he had found the crumbling foundation had
been reinforced by some renovations in the basement. It was same as he
remembered it; stud frames with pink insulation, covered with a plastic
sheet and bright red tape. The floor was bare plywood sheets. There was a
washer and drier in the corner near a roughed out bathroom. All Chris
discovered was a small pile of unopened boxes at the bottom of the
stairs. He sat on the stack and realized his heart had been pounding.

Jake
was staring out the dining room window when Chris came back up. He
turned quickly toward the boy. “I thought you vanished.” There was a
hint of panic there.

Jake
waved a hand dismissing his reply, then sighed heavily. “Forget I said
that. My life is very complicated. You wouldn’t understand.” He
recovered quickly. Jake smiled at Chris. “I’m glad you’re here.” Chris
noticed he had changed into plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a loose
white tee shirt. He managed to look good in it. Chris put his glass down
on the table and pulled off his own shirt.

Jake
took in the boy’s bare, lightly sculpted torso from the low slung
sweatpants to the prominent collar bone. Chris looked frail. His face
was flushed and his eyes seemed unfocused by the alcohol he had
obviously been drinking. That right hand was trembling again. Jake
caught its fluttered drift toward the boy’s crotch, touch a growing
erection, and then up to the waistband, before falling back to his side.

“I’m
such a fool. I’m so sorry Chris. I wasn’t thinking.” Jake stepped
forward and drew Chris against his chest. He brushed a hand through the
tangle of light brown hair, combing it back from Chris’ forehead, then
he pressed the boy’s head against his chest gently. Jake cursed his
body. It was doing exactly what Chris expected. Jake kissed the top of
the boy’s head and gently pushed him away. “We’ll sort things out
between us. Put your shirt back on and grab your drink. Let’s see if
there’s something you want to watch.”

Chris
did not put his shirt on. He sat on the couch where he had been before
and went back to his drink. It took a while for his erection to fade. It
had surprised him with its sudden demand. He was not sure what he felt
in Jake’s arms, pressed against his chest, feeling the beginnings of the
man’s own arousal. He did not know what to think about Jake’s rejection
either. Chris lived in dread of rejection. Everything about the moment
blunted his necessary rage.

Jake turned
on the TV and surfed until he found something a teenage boy might like.
He was wrong, but Chris let it go. Chris started drifting away in a
haze. He almost dropped his glass, but Jake caught it from his hand, and
caught him as he swayed forward. “Time for bed kid. You have to walk
because I can’t carry you.” Jake followed him up the stairs steadying
him when he stumbled. When Chris was on the bed he stripped off his
sweatpants and fell onto his back. He was out after that.

“Oh
you cruel little bastard,” Jake murmured to himself staring down at the
naked teenager. “You would just do that to me wouldn’t you?” He thought
Will hard and slender, but the eighteen-year old was a man beside this
boy. Jake had never thought to do more with a teenager than envy his
graceful youth and erotic energy. He could imagine doing quite a bit
more with Chris. “Get thee behind me Satan. Under the sheets you go
before I lose it all over you.”

Jake had
to lift the boy’s legs onto the bed. Then he rolled him onto his side.
One leg slid over the other, parting the boy’s crack. Jake caught the
shine of lubricant. He passed a finger over the smear. “Jesus Christ.”
Jake tugged at the bedding he had prepared for his own son, after a
tussle that gave him far too intimate a knowledge of Chris’ young body,
he settled Chris safely on his side. Chris clutched at the pillow like a
little boy and sighed In his sleep.

The
bedroom door closed with a soft click. He leaned against it for a while
content with his life. Chris’ comment from earlier, the one about
Anthony Childe building the house in 1908, was on his mind. Jake
still hoped Will would return. After having his hands all over Chris,
Jake needed his lover. He decided to do a little research about Moose
Jaw cemeteries while he waited for Will to show up.

All Saints Day

It
was his own room, in his own house. Chris rolled onto his back. He did
not remember coming to this room, nor did he recall what happened
before. The evening faded after Jake hugged him in the dining room. The
boy ran his hands over his body under the covers. He could not decide if
Jake had used his body after he blacked out. Chris saw his book bag and
the clothes he had been wearing on a wooden chair. A note was taped to
the chair’s back.

Jake had gone to work,
asked Chris to stick around till the end of the day, and take whatever
he wanted to eat. That suited Chris. He showered because he could, and
put everything he owned in the washing machine. He spent the morning
wandering Jake's house in Jake’s cotton house coat.

Chris
spent the afternoon dressed in some of Jake’s old clothes robbing
houses in the college neighbourhood. He found five easy places, quickly
searching out drugs, cash, and anything useful. The sixth house went
badly. An elderly man discovered him rifling through the bedroom
drawers. While his wife lay sleeping in the bed. He hit the man in the
face and pushed him down before escaping out the back door with a
precious bottle of morphine. He hurried down the alley discarding Jake’s
coat and knit cap as he went. He saw a police cruiser up the street so
he walked casually up the front doors to Central High School.

It
seemed to be the end of the day, as Chris filtered into the crowd
jostling in the hallway. His adrenalin was up and he was feeling lucky.
He slowed his pace and started looking for opportunities. He circled the
school seeing nothing handy. The place was clearing out. Chris needed
to move on before some adult questioned him. He noticed the gym was full
of boys his age practicing volleyball. He ducked into the change room
for a look. He left with two wallets that should have been locked up and
a pocket full of small bills and change. Chris trailed after a group of
students, trying to seem like he was part of the group. The ruse seemed
to work when the police cruiser drifted by. It was time to head back to
his house. There was a shed in Jake’s back yard. Chris sorted through
everything and tucked a ziplock bag in a corner where Jake would not
stumble over it.

Jake was relieved to
find Chris sitting in the living room reading a book he was sure he had
not unpacked. It looked like the teen had washed his clothes. Jake’s
greeting earned him a pensive glance before the boy’s eyes dropped back
to the book. He was such a good kid and Jake felt bad for him. Chris had
one of Jake’s best glasses next to him with ice cubes floating in rye.
That was troubling to Jake. He left his bag and coat on the chair. Then
picked up the tumbler of rye while stepping past Chris, and finally
dropped on the cushion right beside him. Their shoulders were brushing
as he took a sip of rye and asked, “So are you wasted already, or are
you up for going on a quest with me?” Chris put a finger in the book to
mark his place and wondered again how much had happened after he blacked
out.

“I’m fine. Where do you want to go?”

Jake
squeezed his knee and told Chris he wanted to get out of his office
clothes. He left with the rye. Chris decided to follow him up the
stairs. He sat back on the double bed and watched the man undress. Chris
speculated on how far the middle age man would go. Apparently only down
to a pair of black briefs. Jake did not hurry though. Chris reclaimed
the glass of rye and sipped at it letting Jake know his interest in men
could be equally frank.

“You're gay aren't
you?” Jake paused with a pair of jeans in his hands. “I mean, I saw the
picture of your kids. The two extra bedrooms. No ladies clothing in
here, no ring, big bottle of lube in your drawer.” The man sat heavily
on the bed next to Chris. The boy approved of the old guy’s tight
stomach and narrow hips. Jake took the glass for a sip and gave it back.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Jake gave him a twisted smile. “I was married.” He left it at that.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” Chris offered the glass to Jake after another sip.

“Yes.” Jake pulled on his pants.

Chris
rolled over and put the glass down on the table. “I'm queer.” He
twisted back toward Jake who stood looking at him. “No really, I think
I've known forever.” He turned back, fingering Jake’s pillow. Chris lay
his face on the fabric breathing in the scent of male flesh. “Did we
fuck last night Jake? I mean, I don't think we did, but did we?” He felt
Jake’s weight settle next to him on the bed.

“No kid, we did not have sex. I just tucked you into bed.” Jake wanted to run his hand along Chris’ back.

Chris
did not get it. He knew the man was interested. Jake would not have let
him in the door if he was not interested in him. Chris was smart enough
to know he could put Jake in jail for everything he had done already.
That might be worth something later. It would send Chris back to Brandon
though, and that was never going to happen. “But you wanted to.”

“You're fifteen kid.”

“But you want to.”

Chris
bunched up the pillow and buried his face in it. Jake looked up and
down the teenager’s length. He was not a child, but he was not a young
man like Will yet either. “But you didn't want to.” Jake replied, sidestepping the challenge.

Chris
turned around on the bed and sat cross legged up against Jake, crowding
into his personal space. He reached back to the table for the rest of
the rye. Jake made an effort to take it out of the boy’s hand. Chris
pulled it away, holding up a finger. “A sip for me and one for you and
it's gone.” He took his sip, rich brown eyes staring into Jake’s, finger
still held up to stop a protest. He waved the glass in front of Jake’s
face and dropped his hand onto his knee. “You knew I wanted to. You felt
my rod rubbing up against you and I felt your cock too. You're afraid
of who you are old man, you always were.”

Jake
took the offered glass and drained the last of the rye. He looked at
the glass a moment before standing up. Chris watched him pick a sports
shirt and walk back to the bed. As soon as he was within reach, Chris
snatched it from him. Jake sat down. “Look kid, I'm just an...”

“Stop
calling me kid Jake. I'm not your little boy.” Chris could have used a
toke as he looked at this necessary man. Even a little dope might lure
his elusive prey close enough to capture as he had Jake’s shirt. “I've
been on my own for over three months. Howdo you think I've been able to
do that? People fuck me, I suck dick, I...”

“You drink to make yourself do it.”

“I steal so I can be what I am, and you hide Jake, you hide.”

“Who are you Chris?” Jake asked quietly. “Why hang around with a middle age man like me?”

“You're not bad Jake. I've had a few...”

“Shut
up Chris, just shut up. I can’t stand hearing about that. You deserve
better.” Jake took his shirt back. He started to put it on over his head
but stopped when Chris replied.

“Did Tony
deserve better? How about your wife and kids? Will you be there for
your boyfriend if it gets too hard?” Jake did not answer as he continued
putting on his shirt. Chris could read his mind. “I don't care old man.
I'm no better than you. My list of mistakes is longer than yours.”
Chris leaned in to kiss Jake, but he pulled back. It was not In Chris’
dream. Chris had hoped the man would work for him like the drugs. That
moment with Caleb, pressed against the thirteen-year old boy’s hot
groin, Chris had almost felt whole. Caleb’s innocent passion just about
brought him home. It could be done with Jake. Chris was certain. Yet, it
always slipped away like Jake just did. “Jake, you're a coward.” Chris
let it go. “What is this quest we are on?”

Jake
stood up, disturbed by the teenage arrogance, missing the tone of
defeat in his young voice. It was just as Will said about going over to
the trenches, young men thought they knew it all. He told Chris to put
his coat on, and turned to finish dressing.

Chris
dreaded being in the old cemetery. Suicidal despair whispered to him
often enough without visiting dead people. Jake did not know a fraction
of the ways Chris screwed up. The mistakes piled up and he was out of
control. Fifteen years old and Chris could not imagine making it past
eighteen. The gravestones creeped the boy out. He avoided focusing on
them and kept his eyes on the man searching for a particular marker.
Jake had pulled out some notes and paused from time to time to consult
them.

Jake stooped to read a marker,
stood and sought out Chris. “Hey, I found your doctor and his wife. It
should be nearby.” The dread grew as Chris reluctantly joined Jake. He
avoided the headstones of the parents, backing away until he bumped into
an old stone. Jake smiled at him from nearby, checked his notes, and
then came uncertainly over to Chris. “It’s All Saints Day Chris, he
explained again. I can’t find it.”

“They are only graves Jake.” He stepped up to Jake, willing him to wrap his arms around his trembling body. Take
me back please, before it’s too late. Take me back so I know everything
will be okay. Stop running away from me please, please. Tears
started down Chris’ cheeks and he reached out his arms to the man. Jake
looked over his shoulder at the headstone Chris had been leaning
against.

“You found him Chris. There you
are.” Jake added in a whisper. Chris looked up into the twilight and
squeezed his eyes shut. Jake continued behind him. “William Childe,
December 3rd, 1901 to August 27th, 1919” Jake read the rest of the
inscription in a murmur to himself.

“He’s dead Jake, what does it matter?” Chris asked bitterly.

“He lived, he loved, he died.” Jake replied.

“He
hoped, he got fucked, he...” Chris could not go on. The pressure from
the dead was overwhelming him. He could imagine William Childe’s parents
over there in their grave still mourning their son’s young death. That
would be his parents in Brandon. Chris did not want to look at the
grave. If he turned to look, he was sure he would see William Childe
watching the man and boy suffer. The cemetery stank of regret and loss.
The feeling overwhelmed the boy’s ability to let anything else in. He
stalked away, letting his anger build and wrap around him.

“Oh
Will, I miss you all the time. It's Zaduszki Will, so I needed to see
you. Thank you for bringing me out of myself. It is a different world
now love. I told someone I was gay today. I even told her about you,
well just a little.” He pulled a rock out of his coat pocket and gently
placed it on top of Will’s headstone. Will was such a joy. There was
only the shadow of the eighteen-year old’s memory of rejection to mar
their love, and Jake seemed to be able to drive that away. “I wish you
were alive.” Jake admitted.

Jake stood up
and brushed the damp soil off his pants. Chris had disappeared on him.
He had to admit, he was probably creeping the kid out. It was getting
dark. He said a last goodbye to Will, adding that he hoped they would
see each soon. He began looking for his problem child. Jake decided it
must have been the black cloud hovering over Chris’ cowled head that led
him to the boy.

Chris watched Jake
approach and stop short of approaching the gravestone he was leaning
against. Chris was still angry at Jake, but there was also relief. The
man kept coming back, no matter how much Chris pushed him. Chris pointed
a thumb over his shoulder at the inscription on the black granite
stone. “My guy died in 1960. He was fifty-nine Jake. You better not
waste anymore time.”

Jake smiled to
himself. Chris was such a brat. “Race you back to the car kid.” Chris
scrambled up and began running. Jake forgot himself completely and
chased after him. They dodged headstones as they wove back and forth.
Chris slowed slightly just before they reached the car. He let Jake
scoop him up by the waist. Jake heaved the teenager up onto his shoulder
and twirled him around. Chris was laughing like a little boy, all the
harsh words of the day forgiven.

The pain
started in his chest and his left arm began to tingle. “Oh God,” Jake
groaned. “That was a bad idea.” He sank to his knees while a giggling
Chris snaked down to the ground in front of him and lay there laughing
up at him. Jake did not panic. It would not help. He reached into his
coat pocket for his nitro spray. Chris seemed to realize there was
something wrong when he sent two shots into his mouth. He slipped the
spray into his pocket and smiled weakly at the boy, “ It's okay Chris.”

Chris scrambled to his knees. He put a hand on Jake’s shoulder,”You're sweating Jake. What's wrong? What can I do?”

“Let me rest for a minute. I should be okay.”

“I
should get you to the hospital.” Jake waved him off. That was what his
doctor would demand he do, but it would not change anything. It had just
been a warning. Ironically, Will and Chris were making him feel alive
for the first time in a long dreary life.

Chris
watched Jake sitting so still on the ground, eyes opening and closing
slowly, he was clenching and unclenching his left fist. Chris turned
away and looked into the growing night. He had not expected this, even
though he had considered Jake’s unfamiliar medications during his
morning wander. He felt Jake’s hand start massaging his shoulders.
Coming to a graveyard had turned out to be such a bad idea. Jake used
his shoulder to to stand. Chris stayed close as they walked slowly to
the car.

Jake pulled into a family
restaurant along the strip. He explained that he did not feel like
cooking. They sat in a booth facing each other after they had ordered.
Chris was feeling better after snorting a crushed tablet in the
restroom. Jake was subdued, but he had a peaceful smile. “What did you
take?” Jake asked him quietly. Chris told him what he thought he had
taken. It was something left over from Brogan’s mother, he had forgotten
what it was. “Are you on Meth, Crack, do you shoot up?” Chris stirred
his Pepsi, glad for the sugar. He stopped stirring and took a pull at
his straw.

“You would think so, I’ve tried
smoking Meth. If that was all I was looking for, I would do it all the
time. You cannot believe what it does for you. It’s not enough, or maybe
too much. Heroin scares me. I tried hallucinogens like mushrooms. I
dropped acid once. I won’t do that again. What did old guys like you
call it? A bad trip? The acid dropped me into a nightmare you could not
imagine.” Chris paused, his eyes looking right through Jake into the
unspeakable horror he had experienced. “Imagine a place that smells like
rotten meat, full of mud, people doing things...” He could not go on.
Chris focused his eyes on Jake’s concerned face. “Once was enough for
me. My psychologist started me on Zoloft.
He thought I was suffering from anxiety. I mostly take stuff like
oxycontin and ritalin. It’s easy to find.” He went back to sipping his
Pepsi.

“I’ve got to say I’m scared for you.” Jake said. “What about your family? Do you worry...” Chris cut him off sharply.

“They
are better off this way. I will walk right now if you mention them
again.” His voice was loud and it drew some glances. Chris gave the
finger to a mother frowning at him. He glared at Jake. “Maybe I don’t
talk about your son and daughter, and you don’t talk about my mom and
dad.” The meal came and they ate in silence.

Jake
went to bed early after taking his medications. Chris sat in the
livingroom reading the book he had found in a box. He looked at the last
of Jake’s liquor supply and left it alone. It was hard to concentrate,
even with the last of Caleb’s Ritiline. He marked his place and put the
book down. The boy relived the run through the cemetery. The two of them
running from those graves, caught up in a brief moment of joy and
freedom. He felt Jake’s strong embrace, the sensation of being lifted
up. For just a second, it seemed his life was falling into place. Then
it was Jake letting him slip away. Jake’s heart labouring in the
cemetery. Chris faced the truth. Jake was going to die. His joke by the
grave was the cruel truth. Time was running out for them. Caleb, like
the string of men and boys before him was not the answer. Jake, who
might be, would not give him enough time.

He
stood beside Jake’s bed silently, his bag slung over his shoulder. The
banker had cash, so Chris took it. He left everything else. Jake lay on
his back, covers tossed off. He slept in briefs. Chris was stone, within
arm’s reach. You didn’t give us a chance old man. I have to leave you this time before you leave me. Au Revoir mon amour éternel, jusqu'à ce que nos chemins se croisent à nouveau dans la prochaine vie. The thoughts vanished as they came. Chris turned away and left.

Remembrance Day

Chris’
departure left him feeling so guilty. He had tried to help the angry,
self-destructive boy, and he had failed. Chris was an adolescent train
wreck. Shifting without warning from a sweet man-child to an addicted
sociopath. Will kissed his cock and brought him back to the moment. Will
lay naked across Jake’s thighs on the carpet in front of the fireplace.
He began tracing a finger around Jake’s belly. Jake left off fondling
the young man and put his hands behind his head. “He's a drunk Jake. He
probably just went off on a bash.”

“Bash?”

“You know, get intoxicated. What would you call it?”

“I
don't know, bender maybe. The poor kid is an addict and he will do
anything to get his fix.” He looked at Will. He could not read Will’s
look. “I was hoping you would drop in and meet him.”

“What did you tell him about me?”

“Nothing really, he asked if I was gay, and then if I had a boyfriend. I said I did, that's all.”

Jake
had a thought. Chris might have been discouraged learning about Will.
Along with everything else, the lost boy probably believed he could not
compete with the young man. He reached out to fondle Will again,
marveling at how quickly his young lover found his strength again. Jake
felt a flicker of confusion. Had it been a mistake to seek out Will’s
grave? It was harder to put aside his nature in these moments together.
Will haunted him. Chris, on the other hand, was so painfully alive.

Will
was hard and the hunger in his eyes was enchanting. Jake opened himself
once more to his lover’s need. They whispered encouragement to each
other as they coupled. Will’s young face covered his in light kisses and
small bites. Jake could feel the tension in the eighteen-year old’s
arms as he braced himself for the crescendo of thrusts filling Jake’s
body. Jake curled his back even more, letting Will drive even deeper.
The young man’s adolescent second organsm overwhelmed him. He lifted
Jake higher, strong hands clutching Jake’s hips, pushing his seed as
deep into Jake as he could. Jake watched his ecstasy, knowing these
moments would always be his. Will’s coming had transformed Jake,
banishing the twilight he had been resigned to endure till the end of
his days. It seemed Will would be his eighteen-year old lover to the
end.

Jake lay on his stomach watching the
gas flames dance on the eternal logs. Will sat beside him gently
scratching his back and letting his fingers playfully run along Jake’s
tender anus. “I should run up to Saskatoon and see my kids this weekend.
I’ve been neglecting them.” Will bent over and kissed his back, two
fingers probing the ring of muscle between Jake’s cheeks. He replied
lightly that he understood. The kisses continued and with the decision
made, Jake drifted into sleep, warmed by the sensations of fire and
Will’s soft caress.

Jake had never liked
visiting in Saskatoon. His ex wife knew this, and Jake suspected she had
returned to the city simply to keep Jake at a distance. As if to twist
the knife in deeper, she insisted they go as a family to the one place
in Saskatoon Jake loathed the most, the Train Station Restaurant. It was
as if she knew the repurposed station beside the tracks would make his
guilt for betraying her and the kids unbearable. Jake drank too much and
tried to kill the earworm of Chris’ angry voice challenging him about
his infidelity.

They tried these meals
once or twice a year, just to prove to their children that the divorce
had been civilized. His daughter Tasha was hard to draw out. She ate
quietly and mostly answered prompts from her mother. Theo seemed more
relaxed. He asked a little about Jake’s new house and offered a limp
promise to visit some time soon. His ex wife jumped in to describe how
busy Theo was with school, part time job at Walmart, and a new romance.
Jake tried to to show some pride in his seventeen-year old son. Instead,
he found himself thinking of his Chris. He almost tipped his wine
glass over, Theo caught it, and his ex wife suggested coldly he had
drank enough.

His family left without
finalizing plans for him to meet the children Sunday. He watched them
walk away together into the night. He would make some excuse in the
morning and that would be the end to the shambles. Jake shivered in the
November cold. He glanced back at the old building hating the sight of
it. “Just burn down already.” He growled. His children had disappeared.
What had Chris said? They are better off this way. How
utterly true. The fifteen-year old street kid and he were not so very
different. Jake was well on his way to drunk. He cast about the
neighbourhood looking for a bar. He saw one just across the tracks
running past the station. Jake put the station behind him and strode off
to lose himself. It was probably what Chris would expect him to do.

Sunday
afternoon he drove home to Moose Jaw. He did not get home until it was
early Monday morning. Jake drove the quiet avenues and ranged around the
city searching for Chris. He would pause at vacant houses like the
burnt out house Will and he had explored, wondering if Chris was huddled
there against the cold. The downtown was silent when he finally turned
the car back home. Will was waiting for him. Jake lost himself through
the rest of the night twined with his young lover on the bed.

The
trip to Saskatoon left Jake determined to recover some of his old
routines. He put bookshelves in the bedrooms and unpacked his library.
The book Chris had been reading before he left was still in the living
room. Jake put it on the bed in the small bedroom where he had brought
Chris that night. Feeling foolish, he made a small adjustment in its
position.

With the house
in order, Jake cultivated people more. In the two weeks after returning
from Saskatoon he made a point of talking with his children twice a
week, following up on their lives. He joined colleagues for lunch and
occasional drinks after work. He talked with the neighbour as they
shovelled the year’s first heavy snowfall and when Mrs.
Piso in the other house came out with a shovel, Jake tackled her walk
too. They stood talking when they finished. Jake learned Mrs. Piso had
bought her house from her mother and uncle in 1953 when she married. Her
grandparents had raised their family in the house, she had raised her’s
there as well. Jake fended off another invitation for tea.

Mid
November, Jake was helping a bright young couple with the mortgage to
their first home. He heard a rapping on his window and when he turned
around, there was Chris giving him a small wave. Jake lunged for the
window. Chris smiled hesitantly and jabbed tentatively towards the door
of the bank. Jake nodded agreement and excused himself before bolting to
the door.

Chris leaned against the wall
near the door, hunched into his coat against the cold wind. When Jake
stepped out he turned and then he was crushed against man. The hug
reassured him all could be forgiven. Jake was slow to let him go. “I
thought I'd stop and say hello. Maybe have lunch.” Chris looked up at
Jake.

“Yes, I'd like that.” Jake
was devouring him with his eyes. The man looked at his watch in
consternation. “I can't get away for another thirty minutes.” He pulled
twenty dollars out of his wallet and put it in Chris’ palm, folding the
boy’s fingers over it. Chris would grab a table at the pizza place down
the street and wait for him. Chris saw him pause. He blushed slightly
and assured Jake he would be there waiting. Jake began to reach for his
shoulder, but pulled the hand back, instead he nodded mutely before
turning away.

Chris turned toward the
restaurant, confused about his own feelings about seeing Jake. It had
been a miserable few weeks for him. The prairie fall had ended in Moose
Jaw and there had been some bitter nights in his basement den. To escape
the cold, Chris moved his trade to the basement of the building
adjacent to the bar’s back door. It was out of the wind, but he felt
trapped in the dark down there. On the plus side, it was such a
miserable existence that the few other teenage hookers in the small city
did not challenge him. Chris kept the box knife in his pocket just in
case.

He left the twenty on the table
where the waiter could see it and ordered a coffee. Chris asked for two
menus. He set thoughts of Jake aside and worried his newest opportunity.
Chris had burned his bridges at the technical high school where Brogan
went after he robbed Brogan’s house. He avoided the school entirely now.
His reputation had not filtered over to Central, where he had rifled
through the boy’s locker room. His dealer went to Central. The high
school senior was holding out on him over a weekend hockey party. The
star player was out to his teammates, apparently this made him local
LBGT poster boy. The queer boy’s best friend wanted to get him laid at
the party. Agreeing would get Chris his next fix and maybe a night out
of the cold. Chris was long past starry eyed romantic. A hockey hero was
not his destiny. He knew he would probably do it. Getting fucked over
at a high school party was nothing new.

Jake
showed up late, which did not bother Chris because it was warm in the
restaurant and he was not paying for the meal. Chris slipped the twenty
dollars into his pocket as Jake slid into the booth. “Chris, are you
okay?” The man’s hand lay near the boy’s on the table. It twitched
forward and then back.

“I’m okay.”

Jake
looked at him skeptically. “I don't believe you. You look like you're
sleeping in the street.” Chris bridged the distance on the table and
covered Jake's hand with his.

“Can't we just have lunch together old man?”

“I thought you said I wasn't old.”

Chris
smiled down at the table. “It's just a nickname Jake, I don't mean
anything by it.” How could he explain to the middle age man that in his
drug induced dreams, Jake was always the boy next door he had been
searching for since he was thirteen. Chris would sleep with the whole
hockey team if it brought him closer to his next night with young Jake.

“Okay kid, I understand.” Chris smiled at the table again when Jake called him kid.

“You are still with your boyfriend aren't you?”

“Yes, I am.”

Chris
nodded. He looked at Jake's face, worn by time. Jake was somebody else
in his dreams. Somebody with the innocence and wonder of Caleb. The
forty-five year old looked like the fifteen-year old felt. They ordered
food and ate in near silence. Chris needed Jake’s affection, so he hid
his bitterness. For his part, Jake was reluctant to talk about Chris’
life for fear of what he would learn. When they were done, Jake wrapped
his fleece scarf around the boy’s neck. He did not want to let him go.
They parted on the street. Jake heading back to work, and Chris to the
alley until he could connect with his dealer. He checked the iPod as he
walked for new messages. A regular wanted to pick him up at 2:00, it was
a bumbling old retiree who would let him sit in a warm car for a while.
Chris sent him a reply and walked on.

Four
days later, Chris was tapping at the bank window and Jake was smiling
his pleasure. Chris came into the bank long enough to stick his head
into Jake’s office while they picked a restaurant. He waited for Jake
over a double double and checked his afternoon schedule again.

The
hockey hero, Patrick, turned out to be a shy bottom. Chris turned out
to be part of a stable of presumably promiscuous freshmen and sophomores
lured in by free alcohol and weed. He was the only boy in the group.
Chris blended into the crowd, pretending to everyone and himself that he
was part of the social scene. The senior worked his way around to
sitting near Chris and then stalled. At a frown from Patrick’s best
friend, Chris started seducing him. They exchanged kisses on the couch
before Chris led him upstairs to a vacant bedroom.

Patrick
let Chris lead the foreplay. When Chris offered himself to the older
teen, Patrick confessed what he wanted. Chris was agreeable. He readily
exchanged roles, doing whatever was called for by the john’s. Patrick
was a bottom, but Chris leaned toward being a top. They did not rush,
but the noise of people in the hallway unsettled Patrick and the sex was
not perfect. Chris finished Patrick with his hand. Before they left the
room, Chris gave Patrick his contact information and invited him to
message a time he was free. The teenager seemed eager. Chris promised
himself not to wreck this opportunity the way he had with Brogan.

Chris
stayed at the party on the off chance he was expected to have sex with
Patrick again. When Patrick left at 1:00 to make a family curfew, Chris
started drinking hard and taking everything that was offered. Patrick’s
best friend fucked him. Chris remembered thinking at the time that the
aggressive teenager should have been satisfying Patrick instead.
Unfortunately for Patrick, his buddy was so blinded by his own sexuality
that he could not imagine Patrick as anything but a Alpha top like
himself. Getting knocked about and hurt by the clumsy seventeen-year old
was good for Chris. It chased away the soft thoughts of friendship and
romance. He welcomed the adolescent aggression and the pain it caused.
It put Chris back in his place.

He drank
on, reminding himself he was just a whore at the party. Chris lost the
thread of the evening after that. He might have been down on his knees
between the dueling cocks of two wasted seniors settling a bet about
which one would come last on his face. That might have been a memory
from some other party. The host must have kicked him out at some point.
He came to himself standing on Jake’s doorstep trying to get in. He sat
on the deck against the locked door needing Jake to hug him and help him
into his bed. He gave up finally and stumbled away to the burnt out
house to pass out.

Chris thumbed the iPad
absently, Patrick was already interested in hooking up. He tried to
shake off the self pity. It did not fade until Jake walked up to
his table. Their time together was always short. They ordered food and
picked safe subjects. Chris could comment on the proud teens on the
hockey team at his weekend party without telling Jake how they used him.
Jake could tell Chris how he had replaced the old sash bedroom windows
with new vinyl ones without adding that he sat on Chris’ bed reliving
the night he had put the his young friend to bed.

Over
the next few weeks they learned important things about each other.
Chris unconsciously revealed he was growing desperate, as if his
strength and time were running out. Jake’s silences told Chris that Will
was not enough for Jake, something vital was missing. Their fears and
hopes were tangled in the memory of their run through the cemetery.
Chris clung to the reassurance of Jake pursuing him, Jake to the relief
of Chris safe in his arms, death all around them, their own mortality
oppressing them.

Chris missed many days
and Jake was not aware how often the boy loitered beyond the trees
outside his house. There was a pattern though. Jake noticed Chris was
almost always outside the bank window the day after Will appeared. One
morning, Jake grabbed a bag of clothing for the boy on his way out the
door. His night had been full of Will. As he lay contented in his
lover’s arms after, he felt the joyful anticipation of seeing Chris the
next day. He was disappointed though. Chris was nowhere to be found.

Jake
shook the disappointment off and spent his lunch hour walking up and
down Main Street. He was perfectly aware he was looking for Chris. It
was discouraging, but hardly unusual, so Jake went back to work. One of
the tellers stopped by to ask him to join a group going out to celebrate
a colleague’s birthday downtown. Jake accepted the distraction happily.
An evening alone in his house hoping to see Will was not very appealing
at that moment.

It was not Jake’s first
choice of bar. His colleagues were younger and natives to the city. As
he settled into his seat, the woman who had invited him confided the bar
had been the birthday boy’s favourite haunt since he turned nineteen.
Jake took in the crowd and rough surroundings and then ordered a beer.
People were stepping out the back door for a smoke. Jake shivered each
time the open door sent a cold blast of prairie winter his way. It was
close to 6:00 and some of the patrons looked like they had been there
for hours.

Jake was sitting with a group
of four women at his end of the table. He thought of two of them as his
fag hags. They seemed delighted to have him in the bank. The ladies
asked him about his children in Saskatoon and they all compared notes.
One was divorced and sympathized with his long distance relationship.
Someone asked about his boyfriend. Jake humoured them with some
fabricated details about dinner out in Regina and working on the house
together. He kept his stories simple. He had not shared pictures with
them, in part because he was frightened about what that would produce,
and also because of the awkward age difference. The ladies around the
table were given the impression that Will was a middle aged man living
close by in Regina. The conversation shifted to the other end of the
table, allowing Jake to nurse his beer and let the companionship flow
around him effortlessly.

Jake lost track
of time. Dinner came and went, colleagues with family obligations left
the group. The remainder came together at a single table and started
watching the hockey game. Jake nursed his third schooner of draft,
knowing he had to walk back to the parking lot and drive home. He did
not feel like puttering on the house and it was unlikely that Will would
appear early. Inevitably, he had to make a trip to the washroom.

The
bar had filled up by this point and he had to wait his turn at the
urinal. Jake did not have much patience for lewd chatter among men. Two
drunk guys at the urinals were complaining about their companions. They
were not young, so their adolescent whining about sex made Jake
impatient. He was frowning at the abusive words they were using when the
taller shoved his friend playfully. “Take it to the alley Ryan, I hear
there’s a little fag out back doing anyone who asks for free.” That
earned him a shake of the head and an offer to let the taller one go
first.

Jake stepped up to the urinal after
they left. He relieved himself mechanically, eyes focussed somewhere
past the cracked tiles above the fixture. He felt cold as he cleaned
himself up at the sink. He did not recognize the face staring back at
him. It just looked tired and worn. Jake walked to the back door that
had been opening and closing all evening. The blast of cold air hit him
without effect. Almost in a trance, Jake stood amongst the hardy group
of smokers, searching the alley for Chris. Finally, he turned to an
older man beside him. “I hear there’s a kid out here. Where is he?”

The
man sized Jake up and down as he took a drag on his cigarette. He
pulled the butt out of his mouth and waved the glowing ember at its tip
toward the opposite side of the alley. There was a short flight of
stairs and an open door in the shadows. Jake started forward. Someone
might have chuckled behind him.

Light
filtered into the black basement through the door and a small window.
“What you see is what you get.” Chris was propped on a ledge wrapped in a
sleeping bag. His face was toward the wall at his feet, hidden by his
hood and the scarf Jake had given him. Jake stood mutely in the doorway,
completely overwhelmed. “Don’t be shy, what can I do for you?”

“Chris.” Jake’s voice was a soft caress in the darkness. It left a silence large enough to fill man and boy’s pain twice over.

“What
do you want Jake? What should I do for you?” Jake’s voice was almost as
soft as Jake’s, but the second question was edged with the boy’s harsh
bitterness. “You don’t have to say it old man. I know your answer
already. There’s nothing I can do for you right? Will, he’s enough for
you isn’t he?”

“Chris.” Jake began to plead, but the boy interrupted him.

“No,
stop torturing me like this.” Chris fell off the ledge and moved a few
steps closer to Jake as he continued. “How many times do I have to throw
myself at you? Why do you pretend to care what I am doing? I keep
trying this over and over. Jesus I'm so tired of trying.” The boy threw a
fist as soon as he was close enough. Jake stepped aside, blocking it
easily. “You coward. I try, and all you want is him. What about me Jake?
What about me?”

Jake could see he was
crying. Chris stopped talking and like a small child buried his wet face
in the palms of his hands so nobody could see the tears. “I don’t
understand you Chris.” Jake started.

“Oh
God, just leave me alone you bastard, just leave me alone!” Jake tried
to stop him, but Chris ran through his arms and out into the night. It
was not the cemetery. Jake could not catch him. He went back to the bar
scared for his young friend, bewildered by what Chris had screamed at
him. He shivered without his coat.

The
confrontation with Chris sobered Jake. He drove around for a while, but
experience suggested Chris had gone to ground somewhere Jake could not
discover. He turned into his driveway very discouraged. Jake started a
pot of coffee and sat with his head in hands. For the first time, he
hoped Will would stay away. Jake tried to understand Chris’ rage. How
could a fifteen-year old boy be so fixated on an older man like him? He
wanted to understand. When the coffee was ready Jake started pacing
about the house. Jake and Chris had fought before and reconciled. He
hoped that when he went to work tomorrow, Chris would be at his window,
ready to start again.

He took his second
coffee to the living room window and stared at the shadows on the snow.
It looked even colder outside. Jake felt miserable. Was it that thought
or something else that drew Jake out onto the porch? Jake stood on the
frozen boards. He saw the slender figure standing at the corner. He was
moving down the sidewalk before he was certain it was Chris. Chris
stopped short, but Jake could not resist lifting the boy up and swinging
him around. “Put me down.” And when he was back on on his feet. “I'm
sorry.”

“Shut up Chris. I'm glad to see you.”

Chris
was shivering as he pulled his coat off in the living room. He had been
on the street too long tonight. The old house was warm enough, but he
could not stop shaking. “I didn't mean what I said Jake.” His teeth
chattered harder.

Jake came back from the
dining room with two fingers of rye. “I got a new bottle, here drink
this.” The rye was warm, but he just started shaking more. “Okay, let's
get you warmed up.” Chris nodded agreement. They went upstairs to the
bathroom.

Jake helped Chris strip and
into the shower. Chris stood under the hot stream conscious that Jake
had settled on the toilet watching him. He was still too upset to
appreciate that. When he rotated in the shower, it was just to get the
water on his back. They did not talk. Jake watched him soak, no doubt he
traced the lines of the the boy’s body as he turned one way and then
the other. Chris met his eyes each time he turned. Jake helped him dry
and wrapped him in a towel. Chris thought he was fine until he saw the
book Jake had left on his bed. He started shaking and the tears streamed
down his cheeks.

Jake took him gently by
the shoulders and led him out of the room and into his bedroom. He
pulled bedding back and Chris dropped the towel at his feet. He curled
up under the warm blankets trying to stop the tears. Jake left him for a
few minutes, turning lights off as he came back. The stream of tears
seemed under control till Jake stood again beside the bed and looking at
Chris’ face. “What a pair of fools we are.”

Chris
start to sob again. There was nothing sensible in this at all, thought
Jake. Chris watched him as he pulled his clothes off and tossed them on
the chair. The briefs came last and he was a middle aged man standing in
a bedroom looking at a naked teenager crying in his bed. What would Will think of this? Jake asked himself in confusion.

Jake
turned off the light and crawled in beside the boy. He did not try to
touch Chris. He lay on his side sensing the teenager’s heat. Chris
turned toward him in the dark. They looked at each other until first
one, and then the other drifted off to sleep.

Excavating John

Jake
woke first noticing Chris’ back against his side. He adjusted himself
so he could see Chris more clearly. Jake’s waking must have disturbed
Chris because he mumbled “John,” followed by something unintelligible,
then rolled onto his back, face turned away from Jake. There was too
much to think about. “What should I do with you?” He whispered. He
glanced at the clock and realized it was still early. Life went on and
he had to go to work. He swung out of bed as quietly as he could and
went to the bathroom.

Chris lay looking at
the ceiling when he came back. Jake joined him back in bed. “Are you
okay?” Jake tried to ask the question in the neutral tone he had adopted
since the boy’s emotional return the night before.

“Yeah,” Chris turned his head. “I know what you are thinking.” He accused without any anger.

“Call
your parents, call Social Services. Get the naked minor out of my bed
before I ruin my life.” Jake replied. Chris nodded slightly in
agreement. He turned on his side facing Jake in the bed.

“I’m a fucked up whore Jake, admit it for me.”

The
man ran through his choices, scream at the boy, shake him like a rag
doll, tell him that he was better than this, or hug him close whispering
denials. Instead, Jake reached over and yanked the covers off Chris so
his young beauty was exposed. “You’re a cheap prostitute Chris, I know
that. I don’t like it, but I know that. You sell yourself for change
downtown to drunk men. You're a drug addict too. You probably already
need your next fix so you can escape to wherever it is you think you
need to go.”

“I'm doing what I need to
do, being where I need to be.” Chris rolled on his stomach closer to
Jake, bunching up a pillow beneath his head. He looked at Jake from his
new position. The man could not resist reaching over to brush the tangle
of bangs out of the boy’s face.

”You're killing yourself doing this Chris.”

“I’m
half dead anyway.” The boy replied simply. Jake closed his eyes. How
could he say that about himself? Chris was so alive. “There’s still
hope. I found you again old man, that's a start isn't it?”

“You
just need a warm place to stay between selling yourself around the
town.” Jake swallowed his frustration. He kept wanting to block the
images of Chris servicing all those men, but they kept returning. “How
much would you charge to let me suck your underage cock?”

“Forty dollars.”

“If I asked you to blow me?”

“That's
just twenty. I can't keep coming all day Jake.” Chris smiled at him
without much humour. Jake smiled back with even less.

“Say I fucked your skanky little ass right now?”

“Hmm, that would cost you thirty dollars.”

“How much do you charge for a kiss rent boy?” Jake ended with a whisper.

“Foreplay is free Jake.”

Jake
sat up and crossed his legs facing the boy. He pulled the sheet
modestly over his lap. “Why me, why an old man like me? Why don't you
find someone closer to your own age?”

Chris
sat up as well, knees almost touching Jake’s. He leaned closer. “I
don't see you like that old man!” The nickname seemed to contradict what
the teen was saying. “It's easy finding good looking boys if you want
one. I know you're old enough to be my father. Grey hair, hair
everywhere!” Chris waved at Jake’s deficiencies as he spoke. “You got
flabby Jake and you're sagging here and there.”

“Don't
hold back kid.” Jake gave him a twisted smile. The trim fifteen-year
old had no idea how steep the grade was after you reached the top.

Chris
was passionate now. Anxious to share something important. “Sure it
sucks that there are decades between us, but Jake,” and he reached
forward to put his hands on the man’s shoulders, “You're the boy next
door.”

“That makes no sense Chris.” The
boy’s eyes were sparkling. He ambushed Jake, grabbing his head and
pulling him close for a kiss on the lips. As the kiss lingered between
them, the boy combed his fingers through the man’s hair. The gesture
rocked Jake to his core. He looked at Chris afterward cautiously.

Some
of Chris’ elation had drained away after the kiss. “Welcome to my world
Jake.” He started up again quietly. “I dream good dreams and bad
dreams. I told you that before. I’ve learned to avoid the bad dreams.
Trust me, I think I know what hell is like Jake.” He shuddered
violently, and then catching Jake’s eye, seemed to find the strength to
continue. The conversation was so like his sessions with the child
psychologist in Brandon, Manitoba. It all led to Freudian nonsense about
older men and the sexual confusions of adolescence. Chris could write a
book. Jake was no detached psychologist. The man was in the trenches
with him, even if he did not yet understand why. Jake was listening to
him.

“I’ve been dreaming about you Jake,
for years.” Chris cut off a question. “I did not realize it was you. Not
in Brandon, not until I made it to this old house. Now, I just know it.
I’m with you in my dreams. Getting high opens a door or flips a switch.
I don’t know how to explain it to you, it just does. Only, I have to be
careful Jake, because if I go through the wrong door, I know I am going
to die.” The emotions were building up in Chris again. “I’m not crazy
Jake. Please believe me. I’m not crazy!” Jake touched his knee to steady
him.

“If it is the right door, or I
flipped the right switch, I’m with you whole. I do not know how the
drugs I pick work with other people, but when I’m there with you, I’m
healed. Sometimes I just want to take a little more, push myself over
the edge, so I can stay there forever.” Chris was crying now.

Jake
wondered what to think about the boy’s story. He was no psychologist.
He was probably dealing with a very troubled youth. “Chris, you dream
you are with me?”

Chris stared at him a
moment, feeling frustrated with Jake’s bewilderment. He tried again with
more than a hint of exasperation. “Not the forty-something dude sitting
here Jake. I don’t dream about this.” Chris waved dismissively at the
middle aged man before him. “I dream about being with a guy my age. It’s
the boy next door.” Chris pulled his legs up and bent his head onto his
knees as he hugged his legs. There was a shyness about him now, as if
this confession had brought him to something immensely personal and
central in his being.

“So you have sex
with a younger version of me? Is that what you have decided?” Jake had a
new thought. “Is it an eighteen-year old man?”

“No
younger still. You have grown older with me.” Chris’ face was still
concealed on his knees. There was some asperity in his next reply. “It
isn’t always sex, at least not to begin with.” His face lifted and he
rested a cheek on his knee, sliding one leg down again. “When we were
young, you were just my friend. I never screwed things up with you like I
did with real kids. Now we really fuck a lot.” There was a wry note to
this final admission.

Jake was being drawn
into Chris’ twilight zone existence. The man might have rejected it out
of hand, except he was deep into the twilight himself with Will. He
knew there must be a connection between the three of them. The link was
not clear to the man yet. If Will would only make an appearance, between
the three of them, they might get some answers. The boy next door, perhaps Jake could seek his answers elsewhere.

“So
do I start running Jake? Are you going to make those phone calls while
I’m having a shower?” Jake pulled the troubled boy toward him and Chris
tipped over, his head in Jake’s lap. He lay curled up next to Jake as
the man ran his fingers through Chris’ long hair. There was a small sigh
from the boy when Jake suggested he might run to the mall for a haircut
while Jake was at work.

At the end of
the day, Jake pulled into his driveway with some Thai takeout he had
found downtown. He glanced at the lights in Mrs. Pisio’s house next door
before heading in to see how Chris had managed through the day. The boy
was not there and that started a knot in Jake’s stomach. It grew with
each slow step he took upstairs until he found a familiar book bag
sitting on the floor in the small blue bedroom. Jake sat on the twin bed
with the takeout bags between his legs until his heart slowed down. It
would be alright, Jake told himself.

Jake
was not completely sure of himself as he stood waiting at Mrs. Pisio’s
front door. There was something to Chris’ story that resonated with
Will’s appearance in his life. He hoped the old woman could tell
something he could use to save the boy before it was too late. There was
no answer, so Jake stepped back from the door, shamed by relief. The
unremarkable house still left him with a taste of bile. There was that
sickening sense of defeat and shame every time he crossed the threshold.
He reassured himself he would chat with the woman as soon as he could.
She called to him as he reached his driveway. Jake braced himself, and
turned back.

She completely surprised Jake
with a passable glass of wine and when he allowed he could eat
something, she offered him bruschetta with some antipasto. After an
inconsequential exchange, Jake cleared his throat, “I know this is an
intrusion into your family, and I completely understand if you prefer
not to talk to me. You told me that your family built this house at the
beginning of the last century. Then you bought it from your mother and
uncle.”

The elderly woman nodded. “My
grandparents did not build the house. They bought it before the Great
War. My uncle, and then my mother were born while they lived here.”

“I
see. I wonder if you could tell me what you know about your uncle.”
Jake took a sip of his wine and she encouraged him to have some more
bread. It turned out that she welcomed a chance to share her family
history with anyone. There was a preamble about why the family moved to
Saskatchewan from Nova Scotia and then she started.

“Uncle
John was a very unhappy man. I had next to nothing to do with him you
understand. Everything I knew about him comes from my mother. He was
apparently a vast disappointment to his parents. Uncle John was
estranged from the family long before I was born in 1927.”

“Were you given any reason for that?” Jake prompted.

“My
mother did not tell me. Perhaps it had something to do with his leaving
university in Saskatoon.” She paused to take a drink herself. “You
know, I don't believe I ever heard my grandfather mention his name. We
would be here in this house for Christmas year after year and you might
never have known he was alive.” Mrs. Pisio shook her head regretfully.

“Mother
certainly stayed in touch with uncle John. She loved him I suppose.
Perhaps grandmother did too. She kept some memories of him. I think I
saw him first when I was ten or so. That was the summer of 1938, just
before the war. It was my grandmother’s funeral. He came to her grave
after everyone had moved away.”

“Do you know what he did all those years?” Jake saw no end to the sad story.

“Uncle
John ran a confectionary on the east side of town, rather close to the
cemetery. The building is gone now. He left it to me when he passed away
in 1959.”

“I see. Is there anything more you can tell me about him. You have been very helpful and I appreciate your confiding in me.”

“I'm
not sure what else I can tell you.” She hesitated. “Would you care to
see a picture of him?” Jake’s heart skipped a beat. He said he would.
Mrs. Pisio apologized in advance, telling Jake it might be a few
minutes. He refreshed his wine and looked out the window hoping to see
evidence of Chris. She returned with a tattered photo album.

Unsure of where to
look, Mrs Piso entertained him with a collection of pictures of the
family beginning with her grandparent’s wedding. Jake thought her
grandfather a right proper bastard. He had an intuition about the cause
of the estrangement and he sympathized with the young John. It was not a
period when people snapped candid photos. The first picture of John was
at his christening. The next was when he might have been eight in a
family sitting. “Here he is again at his confirmation.”

Jake
looked at an average youth. If he was at all attractive, it was
probably just his youth and confident air. Jake imagined he was happy in
the group of overdressed teenage boys and girls. He had found at last
what he was looking for. John stood with his arm draped casually on the
shoulder of another teenager sitting beside him. It was Will. Knowing
the answer, he asked anyway, “Do you know who this one is?” He tapped
his finger on Will.

“I think I do
actually. Mother pointed this picture out to me when I was first married
and moving into this house. That’s the boy next door.” Jake felt a
shiver down his spine. Mrs. Pisio continued, “Mother said she had a bad
crush on him. She said he was an awful scamp. Thick as thieves he was
with John. Very sad about him, he died in the Great War with all the
other boys. Not uncle John of course, grandfather pulled him off a troop
train when he was just a boy. Funny I should remember that.”

“I
believe William died in the flu epidemic after the war.” Jake told her
quietly. She nodded, turning to the next page, not much interested in
the details.

“I remember now, this would
be the last picture of uncle John. How sad he looks. This would be his
high school graduation I should think.” Jake saw the anxiety etched in
the eighteen-year old’s face. As he posed for the picture, Will would be
fighting in the trenches of France. There was more in that face. John
seemed to mirror Chris’ anger and defiance.

Jake
lingered for another half hour paying the old woman back for her time
and memories. She thought Chris was his son Theo it seemed. He shared
details of his own life with her. As Jake was leaving, he asked her when
she had last seen John.

“It was just
before my wedding in 1949. Grandfather had passed away some months
before. Mother brought me to the confectionary to ask uncle John if they
could sell this house to us. He was very bitter. At first he said he
would rather see it burn to the ground. He must have changed his mind.
He told my mother maybe it was best to let the past be buried by someone
else’s happy memories. He wished my husband and me well.”

At
the door, while he was thanking her again, she put a hand on his arm to
stop him. “Here’s something odd my mother said to me when my Randolph
was born. She warned me I should let my son love who he wants. It meant
nothing to me at the time, but her words did come back to me when that
impossible boy of mine decided he was a free loving hippy.” The memory
brought a smile to her lips.

“So what does Randy do now?” Jake asked.

“Play
golf! But he was an accountant if you can believe it.” Jake laughed
with her. He decided they should share another bottle of wine some time,
but not at her house. Nothing short of Chris would induce him to cross
that threshold ever again. He hoped John’s shade would forgive him his
trespass.

Chris was poking at Thai food at
a kitchen counter when he got home. He looked strung out and weary. He
left Jake after a few irritable phrases to go upstairs. As he cleaned up
the kitchen, Jake could hear Chris washing. When Jake went upstairs to
check on the boy, he was sleeping in Jake’s bed. The man collected his
scattered clothing and left it on the chair in the blue room.

Jake
kept vigil for Will again that night. His disappointment and yearning
for his lover was tempered by the sense of well being it gave him
sitting in the dark watching Chris.

Spirits Intersecting

Chris
woke at 4:00 feeling restless and agitated. Jake was lying on the other
side of the bed snoring gently on his back. He still had on the clothes
he wore to work. It was not the Thai food from the night before. Chris
knew he needed a fix. It would be worse by the end of the day and by
Sunday morning Chris would be vomiting. Right now, it was simply thirst.
Chris left the bed and headed for the bathroom. He drained two glasses
of water and parked himself on the toilet with the book he was reading.
He was too keyed up to focus on the pages.

Just
being with Jake, in his house, did not solve his addiction. Chris faced
that reality the day before head on. He slipped into a few houses
looking in bedrooms and medicine cabinets before meeting the hockey
hero, Patrick, at the teen’s house for lunch. The morning had been
unsuccessful. The queer boy’s best friend had not told Patrick that
Chris was a hooker. When Chris asked for his money Patrick got upset.
Chris baled on the older teenager before things got too dramatic. The
honesty of the bar alley was easier to deal with.

Chris
finished on the toilet and enjoyed the luxury of a long shower.
Unfortunately, the back alley trade was poor. Chris was desperate. He
checked his book bag and could not find anything. Chris went
downstairs for a drink. Standing at the dining room window, Chris
remembered the stash he had put Jake’s shed. He followed the trail
across the snow covered back lawn wrapped in Jake’s winter coat and
boots. The shed was dark, but he found the ziplock bag exactly where he
had left it. He found the bottle of Morphine he had stolen so many weeks
ago and tempted himself with it. One would tide him over until he
scored with his dealer. He reluctantly let the bottle drop back into the
bag. Chris scooped up the miscellaneous capsules from Brogan’s mother
and returned the morphine to its hiding place. It was good to know it
was there.

Jake worked half of Saturday
and came home hoping Chris would be there. The boy was slouched on the
couch staring at daytime television. His surliness spoiled the man’s
good mood. He puttered in his office and made himself lunch as a way of
avoiding Chris. He was munching a sandwich at the dining table when the
boy sat up. Chris glanced at Jake, “I’m going out. I probably won't be
back till tomorrow morning sometime. Don't worry about me.” Jake watched
him head for his hoody and the black coat.

Jake
choked on his bite of sandwich and swallowed hard. He put his sandwich
carefully on the plate. “Chris, don't go.” Chris paused with the fleece
scarf In his hands. He turned to look at Jake with a look of stubborn
pride.

“I can't do that Jake. We've talked
this out. I'm not going to argue with you.” The teenager kept wrapping
the scarf around his face.”

“How much do
you need Chris? I’ll give you the money you need if you don't go out
tonight. I'm sorry Chris, it hurts too much to see you go out there.” He
couldn't keep looking at the boy. “And when you get the God damned
stuff, I want you here where I can do what I can to keep you safe.
Please do this for me kid.” Jake covered his eyes to scrub away the
tears, and then he felt Chris beside him and the boy's arms wrapped
around him. Chris rested his head on Jake’s shoulder.

Chris
let Jake drive him over to his dealer’s house. He did not have to ask
the man to stay in his car. They were close enough to a Tim Hortons so
they agreed Jake would wait for him there. Chris was glad he had,
because he faced a lot of grief from the angry eighteen-year old over
disappointing Patrick. Chris listened stoically to the tirade knowing
most of it was true. He had enough money, the dick would come around.
Chris was his bitch and they both knew it. It took the usual blow job,
and then his adolescent entourage got to watch a teenage boy jack
himself off for a fix. Chris did it mechanically without hesitation, his
eyes fixed on the ziplock bag of OxyContin dangling from his dealer’s
fingers.

Chris put the humiliation out of
his mind. He knew how it worked. The three teenagers laughing at him in
the kitchen would take their turn. Before long, his dealer would have
each of them truly hooked. One of them would be screwing Patrick in his
place. They would blow each other, or in a month Chris would be raping
one of them for his next fix. They would be doing it gladly to shave a
twenty off the bill. Still, as Chris trudged along to the coffee shop,
he was grateful Jake had not seen him do that. Chris found a smile
somewhere and shared it with the man draped across two chairs near the
fireplace. A coffee later, Chris was feeling better. It was probably
just the pill he took as soon as he was free of the dealer’s house.

Jake
knew Chris’ was already high. The teen sat alertly in the black vinyl
chair, nibbling a bear claw. His eyes scanning the other patrons in the
popular donut shop. There was an angry red mark gradually fading below
his eye. It looked like someone might have slapped him. He asked Chris
if he wanted to go anywhere else, since they had the afternoon together.
The deep brown eyes captured him. “Let’s just go back home.”

Three
chattering girls with a boy in tow burst through the door and joined
the line. They were all younger than Chris, but the teen noticed them.
Chris stared at the group, the last of the bear claw and Jake forgotten.
The man followed Chris’ eyes over to the young people. The three girls
were a whirlwind of energy swirling about the counter, bursts of
comments to each other and the boy. The boy was staring at Chris. Jake’s
attention shifted back and forth between the pair. Chris was lost in
the boy’s hungry eyes.

Chris pitched the
half eaten bear claw on the coffee table between them and headed for the
door. He was pushing through it before Jake could collect himself. The
other boy was headed after him, but Jake reached the door first. The boy
stopped short when he found Jake blocking him. They stood measuring
each other and then the boy turned back to his friends flustered. The
young teen looked over his shoulder at Jake once more as if Jake might
have cleared the door for him. When he saw Jake still watching him, he
gave up.

Jake found Chris leaning over the
back fender of his car, head down, kicking at the tire. The black
winter coat lay on the pavement beside him. Jake picked up the coat and
brushed it off. “Just open the door.” Chris demanded. He sat brooding in
the passenger seat beside Jake. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” But then Chris added bitterly, “He hates me.”

“I
don't know kid, it didn't look like he hates you. I think he really
wanted to talk to you there.” Jake looked back at the Tim Hortons behind
them. “You could still go back in there and talk to him.” Jake smiled
sympathetically at the teenager.

“No I
can't Jake.” Chris’ voice was harsh. When he spoke again, his voice was
bleak. “I raped Caleb, okay?” Chris started rocking in the seat, his
hands thrust between his thighs. “I hurt him.” Jake watched him in
silence until he stopped abruptly. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because you like him.”

“He hates me.”

“I
don't think so Chris.” Chris looked his way, hope and despair flickered
across his face. Then there was resignation. “Chris, you're young. You
have plenty of time to fix your mistakes. Give yourself a chance. I’m
not sure that boy thinks you hurt him.”

“But
I will, I always do.” It was more adolescent misery. Another
fifteen-year old might have been resilient but Chris was putting the
dregs of his soul into coping with his daily struggle. “Take me home
Jake please.” He asked again, completely exhausted.

Forty-five
minutes later, Chris sat on his bed in the blue bedroom looking at the
bottle of narcotics. Jake sat on the chair, elbows on his legs, chin
resting in the palm of his hand. The teen rattled the pills in the
bottle and glanced toward the man. He smiled shyly at Jake. “I’ve never
had an audience before.” Jake did not respond. Chris tapped out two
tablets and then a third. He was never completely sure of the best
dosage. There was always a risk the pills had been laced with a killing
dose of Fentanyl these days. He capped the bottle and put it beside his
glass of water. Jake watched as he washed all three down.

“Now what?” Jake asked quietly.

“We
wait for a bit.” Jake checked his watch. Chris looked around the room
and then back to Jake. “I’m hoping it will be different this time. I’m
hoping that being in this room, in the house, will help me push through
to him. You’re here with me this time. I just need him to stay Jake. I’m
going to hit a wall soon if he won’t stay with me.” Chris was close to
tears.

“What was that boy’s name in Tim Hortons?” Jake asked with a catch in his throat.

“Caleb.” Chris replied.

“Tell
me about Caleb. Tell me what happened between you two.” They talked
quietly together for the next half an hour. Jake listened to the brief
encounter between the two boys and Chris’ anguish about it. Jake watched
Chris begin to slow. The boy began to nod off, so Jake shifted to the
bed, pulling Chris against him till the teenager was resting in his
arms. Jake held him close, frightened to death by what he was doing. He
needed to believe that Chris was in control of all this and that this
was not all some delusion.

“Pick the
right door,” Chris murmured, and then Jake felt the change and Chris was
at peace. As Chris fell away from him, Will returned. Jake held the boy
tightly as his lover joined him. He stroked Chris’ hair softly.

“I
think I knew you were the connection Will. He’s been trying to get back
to you all his young life. You told me you were running away from
someone when you enlisted. I talked to John’s niece next door. Did you
know he tried to join you, that his father yanked him off the train? I
don’t know what happened between you two exactly Will. Those were
different times though. It was scary to be queer. You told me you were
waiting for him to come back to you when you caught the flu in 1919. The
kid’s been trying. He needs you now. I can’t help him.” Jake
cried as he looked into Chris’ sleeping face. He looked up at Will.

Will
was leaning against the bedroom doorway with his arms folded. The
eighteen-year old just stared impassively back at Jake. Jake’s lover
never looked at the sleeping boy in Jake’s arms. Jake wanted Chris to
have a chance to grow into a man like Will, to find his own love with a
person like Caleb. Chris just deserved to have someone looking at him
the way Will always looked at Jake. Will seemed to be the key to that.
Will finally looked down at Chris, but his look did not soften at all.

“You
have it wrong old man. That last time you telephoned me from Saskatoon,
when I told you I thought I might have the influenza, you promised you
were coming back to me. You promised nobody would stop you again. I
waited for you.” Chris moved across the room and touched Jake’s upturned
face. “Oh Jake old man, listen to your heart for once, stop being
afraid of it all and just ride along with it. He’s not John, you are.
You’re the boy next door aren’t you?” Jake looked into Will’s brown eyes
and he recognized Chris peeking through. Spirits drift in different
ways. Jake felt his well up from somewhere deep and buried. Chris had
been reaching for him, wanting to get back to him. He thought understood
Chris a little better. He felt released. “As for my forgiveness, oh
Jake, you had that long ago.”

Jake shifted
Chris to the the bed, putting him on his side with a pillow behind his
back. As usual, he could not resist reaching out to brush the hair off
Chris’ forehead. “Find me in your dreams. Let’s see if we can make this
work you beautiful, beautiful, broken boy,” Jake turned to Will and held
out his hand. The eighteen-year old who took that hand and smiled
seductively at him with Chris’ eyes would never be the same.

They
moved to the bedroom together. It had never been hard to fall under
Will’s spell. This time Jake also felt the boy’s spell woven into the
other, drawing him toward his lover. The wan winter light of a grey
afternoon fell across both their bodies as they disrobed and began
twisted around each other. For Jake, it was Will one moment and Chris
the next. Their first exchange was tender coming together.

Afterward,
Jake stroked Will’s back, admiring his athletic frame once again. He
liked to run his fingers over every curve. Jake sat up beside the young
man and moved his wandering hand down to Will’s waist and legs. “Will?”

“Hmm?”
Will bunched up the pillow beneath his head and looked at Jake. The
man’s wandering fingers paused, startled by the familiar pose.

“John
hated himself all his life and died a sad and lonely man. Until you and
Chris came to me, I was headed in the same direction. If you forgave
John, why didn’t you go back to him all those years ago and be with
him.”

“It is a big world. I suppose nobody
came to Moose Jaw.” Will almost purred as Jake slid his fingers between
the young man’s thighs. “It took the boy, there in the other room, to
bring us together.” Jake bent forward and kissed Will on the ass. His
hand kept up its exploration between Will’s thighs.

“John
died the year I was born in Poland. How many lives have you lived
since?” Will rolled on his side and explained he had no idea. Returning
to Moose Jaw was his first awareness since falling into unconsciousness
in 1919. Will had an erection from Jake’s sport, so Jake took advantage
of it. Once he was impaled, he kissed Will on the lips.

“Why don’t you stay with Chris?” He asked as he rode the young man. Sex distracted them for a time.

“Passchendaele
changed me Jake. I was a boy at Vimy, shielded by good men from the
worst I could be. I found out just what I was capable of at
Passchendaele. It was a hellish bog of
rotting bodies, water-filled shell craters, and mud. Nothing I tell you
can help you understand.” Will had paused thrusting up into Jake through
this, he resumed as he added, “Currie knew what he was doing. We
trusted him after Vimy. He couldn’t save us though. So many mates died
beside me in the mud of that wasted effort.” Chris pulled out and with a
strong arm pushed Jake down beside him. He thrust back into Jake
angrily. “I lost the best part of me in that muddy bog Jake. Why would I
share the stain on my soul with that boy?”

Jake
was overwhelmed by Will’s punishing attentions, welcoming each thrust
and the the final ecstasy of his release. The second love making left
them drained of energy. Will still moved inside him gently as he lay
across his back. “Besides,” Will whispered, nibbling at Jake’s earlobe,
“After France it was all pointless. Your father’s priggish loathing of
us. My father’s embarrassment at my unnatural urges. What did anything
matter after Passchendaele? After
that whole bloody war to save humanity.” Will dropped his head onto the
sheets beside Jake, his hips still thrusting his rampant cock mindlessly
into Jake’s body. “So the boy gets high and fucks every chance he gets,
so what?”

“He’s going to die
young Will. He does not deserve that.” Jake replied sadly. He realized
Will was truly one of the Lost Generation. If death had not found him in
Moose Jaw, he might have lived aimlessly for decades haunted by his
wartime experiences.

Will
pulled out of Jake finally and slid off his back onto the bed beside
him. Jake gave him a kiss because truculent ghost though he was, he was
Jake’s lover. Will rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling.
“There is no point to it Jake. There is no justice either. I left young
German boys his age face down in the mud beside the rotting corpses of
the British boys they killed. Nobody wins Jake, death wins I guess.” He
looked at Jake with a grin. “Life's a banquet old man, savour it while
you can.” With boundless energy, he pinned his older partner to the bed,
devouring him with his mouth.

Jake
got Will into the shower finally. As he lathered soap all over the
young man’s torso, he asked, “Was it all pointless death Will? No heros
in the trenches?”

Will took a
turn on Jake’s back and tortured him with soapy anal probes. “I admire
those men who died saving me at Vimy. Now they deserved to come home to
Canada. They earned the right to live. It might have been different if
I'd had the chance to die helping some kid get out of that show alive.”
Will stopped so Jake rinsed them both off.

They
ended the afternoon quietly in each other’s arms on the bed. Jake got
Will talking about his childhood with John, and the quiet moments in
France, what he had seen and done. John remained a stranger to him. Only
the youth’s passion for Will connected with him. He liked the
descriptions of the villages of France, so different from the
Saskatchewan towns. Will helped him imagine crusty bread, simple stews,
and rich French wines. But then, that France was two lifetimes away.

Two
hours later, Jake was dozing on the twin bed in Chris’ room waiting for
the boy to wake up. The sleeping boy’s head lay in his lap and Jake’s
arm was draped over his chest. They slept that way until 8:00 when
Chris’ surfacing roused Jake. Chris groped for the glass of water
lifting himself enough to drain the glass. He sank back against Jake,
touching his arm before letting his hand fall to Jake’s leg. The
afternoon of lovemaking held them enthralled for a while.

Chris
finally sat up. He reached for the OxyContin and took one capsule to
ease his way through the night. Jake watched him pop the pill and asked,
“can I get you anything else?” Chris was looking sad, but he surprised
Jake with a hug.

“I'm going to
take a shower.” Chris stood slowly and started pulling his clothes off.
He paused and asked, “Come sit with me?” Jake sat on the toilet while
the boy started washing. Jake watched as Chris shampooed his hair, then
stripped and joined him in the shower. Chris made no comment when Jake
turned off the water and started soaping him. When His erection grew,
Jake massaged Chris slowly. Their bodies slid together as they jostled
in the crowded space. Chris came, his back pressed hard against Jake,
one of the man’s hands gripping his sack, the other coaxing the teen to
jet his semen onto the glass door of the shower. Chris twisted around
and buried his face in Jake's chest. “It didn't work.”

“We
need to talk Chris. I have some things to tell you. I think there is a
way to get through to Will.” Chris looked up at Jake, wanting to believe
the conviction in his voice was justified. “Don't give up kid, the old
man has a plan.”

The Last Temptation

They
sat together at the dining room table. Jake sorted his medications into
his pill boxes as he talked. Chris spooned soup in his mouth and took
gulps from a glass of red wine. He listened to Jake talk of the two boys
who lived before them. Chris put his spoon down and sat back.

“You're John and I'm Will.”

“I
was John Blake and you were William Childe. You are Chris Kind and I am
Jakub Czarny. I am forty-six kid, do you think I'm really the same
person as that fifteen-year old punk knocking around New Jersey?”

“What did you look like back then? I want to see a picture.” Chris studied Jake’s worn face speculatively.

“Trust
me, you don't. I'm sure I burned them all. You would never have given
me a second look.” Jake looked at the fragile beauty of the teen across
the table. Stress, sexual abuse and his awful addictions were
relentlessly breaking Chris down.

“You are always too hard on yourself old man.” Chris took another spoonful of soup.

“Yet
I am that teenager in New Jersey, just like you are essentially the
same as the five-year old in Brandon. Parents see it in hindsight. I can
see that Theo’s much the same as he was at five. You look back and ask
yourself why you didn't see it then.” Jake shrugged. “Maybe our souls
grow as we pass through the years too.”

“So we were boyhood friends and then secret lovers.”

“Until
John’s sister discovered us in John’s bedroom.” Mrs. Piso had not
shared that detail with Jake. “I only have Will”s memory to draw on.”
Jake also had the consuming welter of shame, anger, and defiance he felt
when he heard the story. Emotions endured past memory it seemed.
“Will’s father took it better than John’s. Neither wanted the boys to
continue the affair of course. John was shamed or threatened into
shunning Will publicly. That lasted till Will came back from France.”

“Then
William needed to see see John. I know how he felt. I've felt that need
since I was twelve or thirteen. But even before that I was an angry
little kid. Other kids wanted to like me, I screwed it up every time..”
Chris finished his wine and looked at Jake hopefully. The conversation
was not done, so Jake poured him another glass.

“So
we've finally come together Jake. John and Will are in this house. They
have fucked through you. Do we need to do more together? Fuck me now
Jake. Is that what Will needs before he comes back to me?” Chris stared
wildly at Jake.

“I think we both know how
that usually goes kid.” They exchanged shy looks across the table. They
had their preferences. “I have as many ethical hang ups as John did. It
was probably simple for that pompous bastard to turn John away from the
boy he loved. It's a damn shame you're only fifteen Chris. I keep seeing
myself as one of those groping old men in the alley.” Jake bit his lip,
because it would be so easy to sleep with Chris. The damn boy took a
drink and eyed him over the glass. Chris knew it would not take much to
break Jake’s inhibitions down.

“Finish
that glass Chris.” When he did, Jake poured him another. “As tempting as
it is to see if you are as good as Will is in bed, I don't think that
will solve our problem”

“It is John’s
ghost right? You need to find him, bring John and Will together so they
are both satisfied. How are we going to do that Jake?”

“No
that spirit of regret has been with me for two lifetimes. It sickened
John Blake for forty years until he died a husk of a man. It ate away at
me till I came here to Moose Jaw. Will came to me, actually, you came
to me Chris, drawing Will’s spirit with you. John is at peace now Chris.
I feel it, because I'm at peace.” Jake’s eyes teared over as he looked
at the boy he had come to love. “Thank you Chris. Thank you for finding
me.”

“Will is still lost Chris. You have
to find him and bring him back.” Tears started slipping down Jake’s
cheeks. He brushed at his face and it only served to make the flow of
tears increase. “He needs you to bring him back.”

“No, I can't Jake. You don't know what you are asking.” Chris was terrified. The fear was stamped on his face.

“Oh
kid, I know I don't know what I'm asking you to do. He as much as said
it to me Chris. He cannot get free of that place. You have to go through
that other door Chris. You have to flip the switch the other way and go
back to Passchendaele.”

“I'll die there
Jake. You don't know. I do! It will kill me.” Chris buried his face in
his arms on the table. Jake reached across the table and ran his fingers
through the boy’s tangles.

“I won't let
you die my love. If I'm right, Will won't let you die.” Jake desperately
hoped he was right about that. “I've lived two lifetimes of regret
before I reached this moment. How many lives have you lived waiting for
us to come together?” He sat back and sighed. “I’ll stop now. It's your
decision Chris. I will be here for you either way.”

They
stopped talking about it. It was evening, but Jake made Chris walk with
him around the old neighbourhood. Jake made random comments about
people's yards and the state of the houses. The Avenues had been in
decline, but now they were gentrifying. Chris was content to walk in
silence beside him. Chris was trying to think through what Jake
suggested. It was hard to reason past the blind gibbering terror. It was
easier to rationalize. Jake was wrong, all they had to do was sleep
together and everything would be fine. The teen moved closer to Jake for
comfort.

When they returned to the house,
they curled together on the couch. Chris knew Jake was waiting for him
to make a decision. It was late when they went climbed the stairs to
bed. Chris paused halfway up. “Did you remember to take your pills?”
Jake nodded and turned back down the stairs for his evening medications.
Chris continued up to Jake's room. He stripped and pulled the sheets
back. He was sitting on the bed when Jake came back up.

Jake
paused to look at him, then undressed without comment. He joined Chris
on the bed. Chris twisted around. “I have to try this Jake.” The man
nodded silently and stroked Chris’ flank as he pulled Jake’s briefs
down. Chris was hard almost immediately. All it seemed to take was
Jake’s touch to rouse him. He fondled Jake without success. Even his
mouth failed to rouse him off the nest of pubic hair.

“We were making love all afternoon kid. Give me a break, I'm a middle aged man.”

“I
was there, I remember, but I was with a sixteen-year old.” Chris bent
down to try again. Jake tapped his head to get his attention. He looked
up.

“Okay, you never saw me do this.” Jake
rolled over and opened his dresser drawer. He rolled back with a blue
pill and tossed it in his mouth.” He lay back on his pillow and put his
hands behind his head. “It will take a few minutes.”

“Oh
Jake old man, I never thought I'd live to see the day.” Chris shook his
head mournfully. He was impatient so coaxed Jake over and attacked his
back. Their first time went quickly. When Jake turned back over to kiss
Chris, the man was hard.

Chris was
frantic to make it work. They tried everything he could think of. He
knew he was pushing the middle aged man too hard, but the other option
was impossible. In the end, Jake lay beside him in a deep sleep. Chris
stroked him lightly, sobbing silently to himself. He had come to love
the man. Chris loved him for who Jake had been in another life, and for
Jake’s acceptance in this life of the unlovable person Chris was. “You
were right after all old man.” But Jake was dead wrong about one thing.
There was nothing Jake could do to help. Chris would go to hell by
himself.

Chris lay down beside Jake after
taking something to help him sleep. They slept till almost lunch, and
shared a shower again. Jake made brunch. It nauseated Chris to eat, but
he did not want to disappoint Jake. After lunch he took another pill and
lied to Jake. Chris told him he was going out for a walk by himself to
clear his head. “I'll be back by supper and then we will try it, okay?”
Jake gave him a hug, which felt really good to Chris. He left the house
feeling numb.

Jake walked to the shed in
the back yard. A Chinook had roared through Moose Jaw and melted most of
the snow. The air was almost springlike. Jake found the morphine bottle
where he hid it. It would do. Chris put the bottle into his pocket and
began to walk. Chris walked the old neighbourhood of the Avenues for
kilometres gathering the courage he needed. Finally he angrily turned
east toward the cemetery. Jake was right. He had exhausted all his other
options.

He cut through the mall feeling
the impulse to be surrounded by people. There was nobody there. Malls
were as dead as graveyards in the twenty first century. Chris wandered
the corridors anyway watching the life around him. The bitterness and
loneliness was growing.

Caleb and Chris
saw each other at almost the same moment. He might have been with his
family, but when Chris ducked into a store, Caleb followed him. Chris
left the store and walked down the mall. Caleb was too much to deal
with. Six minutes later, the boy still trailed after him silently. Loose threads,
Chris said to himself. Caleb did not try to close the distance. When
Chris stopped to look at cell phones at a kiosk, Caleb stopped. Chris
glared at him, but the boy just stood helplessly gazing, his fists
thrust in the pockets of his jacket.

When
Chris moved on, Caleb followed. Chris walked slowly on past the empty
storefronts till he reached the hallway leading to the restrooms. He
paced past the urinals and leaned against the far wall. Caleb stepped in
after a minute. He stood silently watching Chris. It was not anger,
Jake was right. The boy did not look like he wanted to hit him. Chris
decide Caleb did not know what he was doing. The thirteen-year old
tensed when Chris came over to him. Chris grabbed the front of his coat
and pulled him gently toward the farthest stall. He pushed him in and up
against the restroom wall, then stepped back to lean against the
partition.

“What do you want Caleb?” Chris could see what the boy wanted. It was all over his face.

“I just...” Shyness overwhelmed him. “I...”

Chris shook his head in frustration. Talk to him, Jake
had said. “Don't you hate me? You should hate me.” Caleb just shook his
head and blushed. Chris wanted to cry. “Are you looking for sex? Is
that what you want?” Impossibly, the boy’s fresh face turned even
pinker.

Chris stepped closer. “I'm a prostitute Caleb. A hooker, do you understand?”

Caleb
found his voice, “I have money.” He bit his lip, which only made Chris
more miserable. He could imagine kissing those lips. He stepped up to
Caleb, holding him with his eyes as he had in the boy’s bedroom. The
boy’s breath was on his lips as reached first one hand and then the
other into Caleb’s back pockets. There was nothing there but he groped
the boy’s buttocks. Caleb’s crotch brushed up against Chris. The eyes
blinked when his hands pulled out slowly. They closed when Chris slid
his hand in Caleb’s front pocket. Chris felt a bill, but ignored it when
his fingers found Caleb’s erection. He traced the hard shaft through
the fabric. When the boy finally opened his eyes, Chris pulled the bill
out of his pocket.

It was a ten. Chris
held it it up to Caleb’s face so he could see it. Blue eyes shifted once
before settling back on Chris. The teen put the bill in his coat
pocket, and eyes still locked on Caleb’s eyes, he opened the boy's
jeans. The erection bobbed free, and Chris sank to his knees.

There
was only laboured breathing when Caleb finished in his mouth. Chris
considered the boy’s spent cock, teasing the last drops free from the
slick head. He wanted to tell Caleb he was beautiful. He just wanted to
be a horny fifteen-year old queer plotting the seduction of an innocent
straight thirteen-year old. Chris wanted to believe Caleb was a fresh
start to a lasting friendship. He knew this moment was just a last gift
from the world before he went to hell.

Caleb
touched his hair hesitantly. Chris flinched and he pulled back. The
older boy abandoned his play and stood up. He did not look at the boy as
Caleb pulled up his pants and tucked himself away. “Do you think...”

Chris
did not let him finish. He bruised the boy’s lips with his own. When he
pulled away, Caleb was flustered. Chris might have laughed if the whole
situation had not hurt so much. Before Caleb could continue, Chris
started in on him. “Go find a nice girl Caleb, find a boy your own age
if that’s what you want. Make it work with them. It can’t work with me.
Don't you see that?” Chris was in agony now. He had to stop for a
minute. His head dropped to the boy’s shoulder. Caleb was frozen against
the wall. “I better go now.” Chris turned to go. As the stall door
opened, Chris looked back once more, “Oh God, just look at you!” Then he
was gone.

On a Darkling Plain

Jake was contemplating what to cook for supper and worrying whether Chris would even eat what he offered. What do you feed a fifteen-year old about to head into battle? A double tot of rum? Jake
had read the British high command got their troops liquored up before
battle. Will had mentioned his mates getting him drunk to calm his
nerves. Jake settled on chicken, but he was not sure when to start it.
He stopped fussing when he felt Will’s presence growing in the room. He
dropped the chicken on the counter and turned around.

“Making
supper?” Will smiled his most seductive smile. On another occasion, it
would have drawn the man across the the room and into Will’s arms. That
afternoon, Will’s appearance filled him with cold dread.

“What
are you doing here?” Of course, Jake understood exactly why his lover
was there. The better question was, “Where is Chris?”

“I
don't know, why does it matter old man?” Will came over and gave Jake a
kiss. Jake accepted the kiss, then pushed Will away. The young man
stepped back in surprise.

“Because he is looking for you!”

“I'm here Jake. He’ll be part of the fun, I know you liked that last time.” Will tried to lure Jake into a second kiss.

“Will,
Chris is in Passchendaele. He’s going through the other door, flipping
the switch the other way, doing whatever it is he does when he gets
overdosed and looks for you. We have to find him.” Will sobered
immediately.

“That was a bad idea.” Will turned away. “He didn't need to live that.”

Jake
left the kitchen, chicken and everything else forgotten. He pulled his
coat and shoes on, determined to find Chris. “Where would you go Chris?”
He turned looking for Will. “Tell me you have some idea Will, please.”

“Check the house we found, the one that burnt. He was there that night.”

“Why don’t you pop over and check it for me.” Jake suggested hopefully.

“I’m here with you old man, I can’t wander far from John’s spirit. We will go together.” Will joined Jake at the door.

They
drove to the abandoned house. “He isn’t here.” Will observed. Jake
ignored him and went to see for himself. He pulled his phone out and
used it as a flashlight. The Chinook winds had blown a warm dry air
across Moose Jaw, but the night still felt winter-cold to Jake as he
pushed through the clinging branches of the Overgrown caragana bushes.
Jake remembered the back door. It opened easily onto a small landing.
Stairs went up into a burnt out ruin, and down into the surviving rooms
of the basement.

Jake went down. “He’s
not here.” Will repeated beside him. Jake searched the small rooms until
he discovered a nest of blankets on a foul mattress. The light from his
phone played around the room. Jake was heartbroken. Over the year that
Chris had been living on the streets of Moose Jaw, small touches had
been added here and there. There was a makeshift table with scorch marks
and a bookshelf serving as a kitchen.

The
burnt out refuge was his only lead to the boy. Jake felt his chest
tighten. He flexed his left hand trying to shake the numbness away. He
did not have time to worry about himself. Where else would you go in Moose Jaw, Chris? What else besides the bedroom Will shared with John would matter? “Where else?” Jake said aloud to Will’s ghost beside him.

Just
at the wrong time, Will began to fade beside him. “Go to me, he’s
there.” Will replied calmly. Jake turned toward the empty space. Despite
himself, he flashed the phone light frantically around Chris’ pathetic
space searching for Will.

“Go to me? God
damn you Will, you couldn’t have said something more useful than that?”
Jake cast a last look around the room before heading back to the warmth
of his car. The pain in his chest was sharper. Jake fumbled for his
Nitro and gave himself a dose. As the pain eased, he tried to order his
thoughts. His house, Chris loved, but he wasn’t there. Mrs. Pisio’s
house, the malevolent spirit of John’s father seemed to linger there.
Chris would avoid the place where Will and John were discovered together
making love.

“Oh Chris, where
else?” Jake tried to gather what he remembered of Chris these last
months. Where else could the boy be alone in a place of power? Then the
answer came to him. He remembered John and Will’s powerful presence as
he ran after Chris through the gravestones. He put the car in drive. It
was the next place to look.

Chris pulled
himself up and started stumbling forward. He was shaking violently from
the growing cold and gut-wrenching fear. He could feel safety ahead,
strength of some sort drew him on through the fog obscuring his eyes.
Chris was half in the hell of mud, noise and demons, and half in the
cold dry silence of the cemetery. He had been wrong. He did need Jake.
Chris shuffled in delirium towards the aura of Jake’s love, bumbling
into headstones, soft whispers all around him. Some voices were simply
confused by his passing, others urged him on toward Jake, and an angry
few told him to leave. Chris stumbled on determined to reach Jake, even
though part of his soul whispered Will was not worth saving. “Be with Caleb instead,” Chris
argued with himself. He reached his goal and collapsed on the ground.
Jakes arms seemed to wrap around him, warming him, giving the shivering
teenager the strength to go on. Chris pulled the bottle of Morphine out
and shook it into his mouth with the last of his free will.

It
was dark now. Jake parked as close as he could to William Childe’s
grave. He ran to the headstone and sunk to his knees in despair. He had
been so certain he would find Chris with Will. The nausea overwhelmed
him and Jake vomited. Jake moaned softly as he tried to think.

“He’s
over there Jake.” Jake turned his head toward William Childe’s spirit.
Will was pointing off toward where Jake had found him that first time.
Jake gathered his strength and pulled himself up using Will’s headstone.
Will guided him over to the the body of the boy. Chris was curled into
himself at the foot of John Blake’s headstone.

Jake
fell beside him and gathered Chris into his lap, cradling him in his
arms. “Oh God Chris, how much have you taken?” Jake pried the plastic
prescription bottle free from the boy’s cold hand. He felt for a pulse
along Chris’ neck and started rocking the boy’s limp body gently with
relief. “You’re alive. He’s alive.” Jake looked up at Will through his
tears. Will stood looking at him uncertainly.

“He’s
going to die Will. It has to end here, don’t you see? He is looking for
you there.” Will looked off somewhere, as if he was listening to
something else. Jake kissed Chris’ cold forehead, brushing the bangs
back with tingling fingers. “Will!” Jake shouted at his lover. Jake’s
voice brought Will back to him, the seductive smile on his lips. “You
forgave me for rejecting you, for listening to my father and believing
it was unnatural and shameful to love you like I did.” Jake sobbed,
“John and I never forgave ourselves. Will, my love, you have to forgive
yourself for doing what you had to do to survive that hell in France.
It’s over and done with for a hundred years. You’re just killing Chris
and he deserves to live.” He was crying now. The tears blurring his eyes
as he switched his gaze between the man and boy he would always love.
“Go be with Chris, he needs your strength, he will heal you too. Stop
punishing him, he never deserved it, and neither did you my love.”

“Jake!”
He looked up a Will. “If I do this if you promise you will take care of
Chris, love him as John loved me, and never leave him again?” Will’s
eyes were intent on Jake, waiting for his answer.

Jake’s answer trembled back. “I will never leave him Will, on my soul.”

Will
knelt beside Jake and slipped a hand behind the man’s head. Jake lifted
his lips to his lover’s face and they shared a kiss. “It will be
alright now Jake. I promise everything will be right.” Will’s face was
joyful. “Don’t worry my love, God is great.” With those final words,
Will pressed his lips to Jake’s and for the first time touched Chris.

Jake
was alone in the cemetery with Chris heavy in his hands. Will was gone,
hopefully off to Passchendaele to bring Chris back. The boy mumbled in
his sleep. “Okay John, you and I have to get the kid to the hospital as
quickly as we can. He probably needs his stomach pumped.”

Jake
struggled to stand with the boy in his arms. The effort left him weak.
Determined to go on, he started off in the direction of his car. After a
few steps, the pain in his chest was intense. Jake paused, panting to
get his breath. He got a stronger grip on the fifteen-year old, kissed
his face, and continued to shamble. Nothing mattered now, but getting
Chris to safety. After a few more steps, the agony in his chest was
unbearable. With each step forward, Jake roared his defiance. He was
still screaming hoarsely at the end when his heart gave out, Chris still
clutched tightly in his arms.

Chris
cowered in the shell hole, listening to the sounds of machine guns
hammering out death nearby. The world around was grey with rain and
smoke. There was no colour left, not even in the stains of blood pooling
on the lifeless bodies or the ragged limbs. Chris crawled over a
rotting corpse of some Tommy from the last failed push. A rate chittered
near his face, and bared its yellow teeth. Chris was beyond caring now.
He had emptied his stomach long ago and his loosened bowels mingled
with the muck he had been hiding in.

His
first encounter with people was horrifying. They came at him out of the
mist with long bayonets. There was a murderous clash between two groups,
loud reports, the sickening sound of steel punching into meat. All
around him, the demons screamed in psychopathic anger or mortal fear.
Chris ran from that through the deadly sleet of machine gun fire.

He
wandered the battlefield in shock, stumbling over objects he was afraid
to recognize. He watched a boy little older than himself slip into the
water pooling at the bottom of a crater. He tried to use a heavy Enfield
as a stick to help him out, but the boy’s terrified eyes were dragged
down beneath the oily surface before his grasping hand could reach it.
Chris sat shivering beside the pool for a while, wondering if the boy
had spoke English or German as he struggled.

Chris
had no idea how to find Will in the horror. He sat to rest against a
shattered tree stump and began to scream Will’s name. The name caught in
his throat as three grey clad figures came out of the smoke toward him.
Chris stared transfixed at the long blades waving back and forth. He
tried to melt into the splintered bark at his back. There was nowhere to
go.

The figures advanced cautiously
forward. Chris froze. A fourth shape materialized behind them and Chris
watched as it brought the first figure down with a shovel. The soldier
stooped to retrieve the man’s rifle and raise it to his shoulder. The
gun must have jammed in the mud, or perhaps it was simply empty. Chris
watched the soldier with the wicked length of steel. The other man
sensed his coming, turned and fired his gun into the soldier’s chest. It
was too late for him. Chris screamed in terror as the long knife
punched through the man’s back.

Chris
recognized Will. Will touched his chest where he had been shot, swaying
on his feet. When the third soldier turned to see what had become of his
companions, the eighteen-year old pulled a knife from his putties and
began running. There was another shot before Will slammed into the man
and sent them both sprawling at Chris’ feet.

Chris
shrank away from the men grappling at his feet. Will forced his way on
top of the other man. Only it was not a man. It was just a frightened
boy sputtering German phrases as he desperately held the Will’s
glittering knife away from his chest. Chris watched the slow death
struggle.

“Will, stop, don’t kill him.
Let him go Will.” Chris wanted the carnage to stop with all his soul.
“Hast du dich ergeben?” Chris asked the German boy. The boy glanced at
Chris and then back at Will. He babbled in broken English that he would
surrender. “See Will, let him go.”

Will
looked at the frightened German boy, then rolled off the boy, who lay
uncertainly beside him, still wary of the knife. Will gave an exhausted
wave of his hand and the German boy scampered away into the gloom.
“Welcome to my world Chris.”

“Thanks for coming Will.” Chris helped Will to sit against the tree with him. The teen noticed Will’s wounds. “You’re hit.”

Will
patted the two growing stains on his torso and shrugged it off. “I’ve
been hurt worse. It doesn’t matter now.” Will grinned at the teenager.
“We need to get you out of here.”

Chris answered stubbornly, “I'm not leaving without you Will. We go together or we stay here.”

“I’m
with you Chris, wherever you go.” Will gazed around the field. The
sounds of battle continued. “I’m done with this, thank God.”

“Take me back to Jake, Will.”

“Jake
is gone Chris. The arrogance of him, always wants to be the old man,
calling us kid.” Will said this with affection though. “Born one day
before me and always so smug about it.”

“So what happens to us now Will? I’m scared.”

“Don’t
be Chris. We go on together. You have things to teach me and I have so
much to share with you. Is it coming back to you at all? The Savannah at
night beside the cattle? Mount Fuji in the summer? I didn’t make it
easy for you, I’m sorry. It will be right this time.”

“You know he was just a sweet horny straight boy, don’t you?” Chris smiled at that.

“And
Jake, I’ll miss the old man Will.” It was so unfair. Their time
together was too short and the middle aged man had already lived his
life. Would Chris ever connect with him again?

“John and Jake, don’t be sad Chris. God is great.” Will hugged Chris and Chris understood, it would be alright.

Allah 'Akbar (2017)

Nancy
Tae bounced her granddaughter on her knee and watched all the
excitement on the narrow street in front of her house. Nancy’s mother in
law sat beside her on the porch rocking back and forth. The movers had
stopped to ask her if she would mind moving her car up onto the
driveway. It was not the Tae’s car, so the burly woman moved on to the
next house.

“So much fuss!”Kyung
remarked quietly. The old woman asked her if she wanted anything before
stepping into the old house for some cold water. Nancy cooed at her two
year old granddaughter as she watched the large truck inch its way up
to the curb in front of the brand new house beside them.

There
had been a celebration when the derelict house beside them came down.
Nancy’s husband, Kee gloated that property values on the street were
rising. Their youngest son was probably the happiest one though. A new
house meant the possibilities of new friends in the neighbourhood. They
all watched the old house come down in cloud of dust. The new house was
modest and conformed to the new heritage restrictions. It looked much
like the Tae’s house give or take a hundred years.

Nancy
watched the movers organize the unloading. A white Sienna pulled up
behind the moving van. She watched the family climb out. Mother, father,
and a boy of about ten. “Ah! Keun will be so excited Nancy.” She nodded
at her mother in law. The parents waded into the middle of the moving
process, while the young boy hung back on the boulevard with his hands
in his pockets. His mother finally called him over and he ran on lanky
legs towards his new house.

Kyung
stayed on the porch cataloging the new neighbour’s possessions when
Nancy took the little girl upstairs for a nap. She paused at her son’s
bedroom. “The new family is here Keun. It looks like there’s a boy your
age.” Her son looked up from where he had been playing a game on his
iPad. Keun smiled at his mom. “Get out of this room for a while. It's a
beautiful day.”

Karen
stopped in the kitchen later and noticed Keun sitting in the backyard
with his back against the old tree. He was still absorbed in his game on
the iPad. She went back to the front porch to wait for her daughter Soo
and her huinsaeg sonyeon husband. The boy and his mother were outside
by the car. It looked like a good moment to say hello.

The women liked each other instantly. The Nyeusi’s
were from Kenya, both were doctors. It was not much of a surprise to
Nancy, her husband was at the hospital too. Canada lured doctors from
everywhere these days. The mother introduced her son. “How old are you
Jamal?” He was a tall nine. Nancy smiled warmly at the tall boy. “I have
a boy your age. He’s in the backyard. Would you like to meet him?”

The
three walked away from the pandemonium in the front. “Keun, I want you
to meet someone.” She turned to Jamal, “Keun has been predicting you
would move in next door. I suppose we will all have to stop teasing him
about it.” Keun had stopped playing his game. He sat looking
toward the patio where his new neighbour stood beside the mothers. Jamal
walked across the lawn without further prompting from the women.

“I'm
glad Jamal has a distraction! After he picked his room upstairs, he was
just getting in the way of the movers.” Jamal’s mother laughed. “Jamal
was sure there was going to be a boy next door too.”

Nancy
smiled at that. She offered to keep an eye on the two boys while the
movers did their work. Passing through the kitchen on her way to the
front, Nancy paused to watch the boys. Keun sat cross legged beneath the
tree, Jamal stood looking down at him. Another friend for her
gregarious boy.

They stared at each other
shyly. Jamal saw a wiry Korean Canadian boy with a wide smile, deep
brown eyes and a mop of black hair. “My name is Jamal.” His English was
touched by a strong Kenyan accent.

“Sit
down.” Keen replied in the voice of the Canadian born. Jamal folded his
long legs near Keun. Keun cocked his head curiously at Jamal. “Do you
play Mouse Maze?” The boy shook his head. “Let me show you.” They sat,
heads close together as Keun played the game on his iPad.

“I’m nine, how old are you?” Jamal asked. Keun looked at him and lost track of his game. They both blushed.

“I'm
nine too, when's your birthday Jamal?” They began measuring each other
in different ways. “My birthday is August 6th.” Jamal laughed with
delight and pushed Keun’s shoulder.

“My birthday is August 5th. You are just a kid compared to me.”

Keun
could see the black boy was quite pleased with himself. “Oh sure, less
than one day I bet. You're such an old man aren't you?” He pushed Jamal
in his turn. “Here old man, you play for a while.” Keun handed him the
iPad. Keun pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them. He lay
his cheek on a knee and looked at Jamal’s face as the other boy studied
the game. Keun’s heart pounded a little stronger.

Jamal
didn't want to think about the game. The other boy was distracting him.
Jamal felt Keun watching him. He stopped trying to play the game and
turned to Keun. “Do you want to see my new room?”

The
two boys ran across the lawn, threading their way through the boxes and
furniture, then pounded up the stairs. They stood looking at each
other, temporarily lost for words. Jamal reached out as if to brush the
dark fall of bangs off Keun’s forehead, bit his lip, and pulled the hand
back. Keun did it for him, glancing at the other boy’s tight nap. Keun
turned away first. He pointed out the window. “Look, that's my bedroom
window over there.” Jamal came to him and their shoulders brushed
innocently.

Keun lay in his room that
night staring at the blue stripes on his wall. Who could sleep on a
night like this? It was late and the sun still lit the rim of the
western sky. A cool breeze rattled his window blinds softly. “Keun!” He
blinked, listening to the random sounds of the old house and the Moose
Jaw night. “Keun, are you awake?”

The
young boy rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the window. He pulled the
blinds up as quietly as he could. Keun sank to his knees and rested his
arms on the window sill. He grinned at the boy next door. A full moon
drifted over the rustling leaves. Young voices began whispering
excitedly back and forth. The years of their lives past between them so
rapidly that before long it seemed they knew everything important there
was to know. The new friends finally ran out of words. Keun looked up at
the moon. He looked back at the boy next door. “Hey Jamal, what are you
thinking?”